' 


It 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 


.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRABY,  LOS  AHGELES 


THE 
SEVERED  MANTLE 

BY 

WILLIAM  LINDSEY 

AUTHOR  OF  "  APPLES  OF  ISTAKHAR  " 
AND  "  CINDER-PATH  TALES  " 

WITH   SEVEN   ILLUSTRATIONS   IN   COLOR    BY 
ARTHUR   I.   KELLER 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

'Cljr  itilu'rsitic  press  Cambridge 
1909 


COPYRIGHT,   1909,  BY  WILLIAM  LINDSEY 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  October  IQOQ 


To  My  Friend 
Therese  Roumanille 

{Madame  Boissiere) 

Daughter  of  a  Provencal  Poet 

Queen  of  the  F'elibres 


2132020 


FOREWORD 

IN  this  book  I  have  tried  to  picture  Provence  in 
the  time  of  the  troubadours.  I  show  the  "  land  of 
the  nightingale  and  rose"  when  Idealism  reigned 
supreme,  with  Love,  Joy,  and  Song  her  counsellors. 
Here  love  first  ceased  to  mean  passion,  and  homage 
of  woman  grew  to  be  a  religion;  the  joy  of  life  was 
over  all,  and  song  the  natural  expression  of  every 
feeling. 

At  the  very  heart  of  it  there  was  a  great  earnest- 
ness, but  it  was  the  fervor  of  children  —  children 
who  had  lofty  dreams  to  which  they  could  not  climb. 
They  believed  that  love  should  come  to  youth  as 
the  hawthorn  bud  to  springtime,  —  not  desire,  but 
devotion  which  asked  little,  and  found  contentment 
in  itself.  No  matter  how  strong  the  love  or  how 
inspired  the  song,  it  must  be  always  controlled  by 
"mesura."  This  was  no  less  their  creed,  though 
the  most  devout  broke  the  chains  which  held  them 
-  for  the  world  was  young. 

I  have  chosen  to  write  with  a  simplicity  which  is 
not  always  warm  and  brilliant,  because  this  manner 
best  expresses  the  spirit  of  the  time.  The  book  is 
not  a  tale  of  adventure,  though  perils  are  expe- 
rienced; nor  is  it  a  historical  novel,  though  its 
characters  breathed  the  soft  air  of  Provence  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  Twelfth  Century.  In  contradiction 

vii 


FOREWORD 

of  the  common  belief  that  the  troubadour  was  a 
shallow  fellow  who  wandered  about  twanging  a 
lute,  and  singing  pretty  songs  to  foolish  women,  I 
hope  I  have  shown  how  very  earnest  was  the  life, 
and  how  lofty  were  the  dreams  which  often  led  him 
to  the  shadow  of  the  cloister,  or  to  death  on  the  hot 
sands  of  Palestine.  The  flower  may  seem  exotic  to 
us  whose  lives  are  so  practical  and  so  complex,  yet 
we  may  learn  something  from  those  who  thought 
first  of  Love  and  Joy  and  Song. 

W.  L. 

BOSTON,  May  i,  1909. 


CONTENTS 

I.   Valor  and  Joy  i 

II.   Saint  Martin's  Mantle  16 

III.  The  Garden  of  Love  25 

IV.  The  Toledo  Blade  42 
V.   The  Book  of  Hours  53 

VI.   Gentle  Touche  67 

VII.   Benizet  the  Goatherd  79 

VIII.   Beaucaire  91 

IX.   The  Rosy  City  i°4 

X.   A  Meadow  Lark  «9 

XI.   Bonifaz  of  Monferrat  137 

XII.   The  Tower  of  Nightingales  149 

XIII.  The  Monk  of  Montaudon  160 

XIV.  The  Red  Roan  i78 
XV.   Berguedan  the  Catalonian  192 

XVI.   The  Velvet  Lists  207 

XVII.   Loba  of  Cabaret  223 

XVIII.    Moon  Madness  237 

XIX.   The  Choice  249 

XX.    Too  Great  a  Debtor  26° 

ix 


CONTENTS 

XXI.    The  Apples  of  Love  270 

XXII.    Under  Death's  Spread  Hand  279 

XXIII.  The  Lady  Hard  of  Heart  290 

XXIV.  When  Love  grows  Cold  299 
XXV.    The  Bird  Cage  307 

XXVI.   The  Golden  Sparrow-Hawk  321 

XXVII.    The  Bridge  of  Benizet  335 

XXVIII.    Saint  Biatritz  343 

XXIX.   The  Castle  of  the  Vale  357 

XXX.    The  Arbor  of  Dreams  371 

XXXI.   Songs  to  Biatritz  379 

XXXII.    The  Robe  of  Bonifaz  387 

XXXIII.  Adoration  397 

XXXIV.  Sweet  Earth  Love  406 
XXXV.   The  Black  Sail  414 

XXXVI.   Death  the  Meddler  420 

XXXVII.   An  Old  Love  Story  428 

XXXVIII.    The  Call  of  the  Cross  438 

XXXIX.    The  Perfect  Love  444 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Raimbaut  mounted  the  steps  as  a  voice  started  up  in  song 

(page  30)  Frontispiece 

He  balanced  the  chances  of  success  and  failure  74 

Raimbaut  was  pale  with  suppressed  emotion  190 

She  reached  it  easily  286 

Inch  by  inch  slid  down  the  lichen-covered  wall  318 

"May  God  help  the  right!  En  garde,  Messieurs"  350 

The  Call  of  the  Cross  450 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 


CHAPTER  I 

VALOR    AND    JOY 

IT  was  dawn  of  a  May  morning  in  Provence. 
The  dew  was  on  the  grass,  the  hedges  were  abloom, 
and  the  sun  shone  a  ruddy  disk  on  the  rim  of  a  cloud- 
less sky.  Every  hill-top  was  red ;  here  and  there  the 
valleys  glistened  with  sunbeams  streaming  through 
the  gaps  in  the  mountains.  The  wind  was  buoyant 
with  the  joy  of  life  and  fragrant  with  the  breath  of 
almond  blossoms. 

Only  the  village  of  Vacqueiras  resisted  the  charm 
of  the  springtime,  crouching  dark  and  sullen  under 
the  shadow  of  the  bleak  crags.  The  tower  of  its 
castle  was  crowned  with  a  dazzling  halo,  but  in 
the  courtyard  of  the  grim  fortalice  the  shades  of 
night  still  lingered,  the  high  walls  shutting  out  the 
day  as  if  it  were  an  enemy.  The  little  quadrangle 
was  cold  and  damp  and  empty,  save  for  a  bare- 
legged lad  who  stood  before  the  entrance  of  the 
tower.  His  clothes  were  covered  with  the  dust  of 
the  mill,  and  his  freckled  face  was  white  with  the 
powdered  wheat.  He  held  a  willow  basket  in  his 
hand,  upon  which  a  lean  hound  gazed  no  less  long- 
ingly than  his  master  looked  at  the  open  door. 

i 


THE  SEVERED   MANTLE 

Suddenly  there  was  the  sound  of  quick  footsteps 
on  the  stairs.  The  boy's  face  brightened,  and  his 
mouth  widened  into  a  broad  smile,  revealing  the 
loss  of  two  front  teeth.  He  gave  a  shrill  cry  of 
greeting  as  a  young  lad  appeared  in  the  archway, 
clad  in  a  worn  crimson  suit,  with  a  belt  of  rus- 
set leather  from  which  hung  a  short  dagger.  He 
had  the  square  shoulders  of  a  man-at-arms,  and  a 
face  like  that  of  the  Saint  John  on  the  walls  of 
the  cathedral  at  Avignon.  With  a  voice  in  which 
there  was  mingled  friendship  and  authority,  he 
asked,  — 

"  Well,  Jacques,  is  everything  ready?  " 

"  Everything,"  replied  the  miller's  lad.  "  We 
could  walk  to  Avignon  and  back  with  the  provender 
in  this  basket.  Best  of  all,  Michonne  has  given  us 
some  sweet  cakes  fresh  from  the  oven.  Shall  we 
eat  them  now  while  they  are  hot,  so  as  to  be  strong 
for  our  journey?  ' 

"  Indeed,  no,"  answered  Raimbaut,  firmly,  as  he 
tightened  his  belt  and  swung  his  short  dagger  so 
that  it  rested  on  the  back  of  his  thigh;  "  not  a  single 
crumb  do  we  touch  till  we  reach  the  grove  at  the 
foot  of  the  Devil's  Tooth." 

"  The  Devil's  Tooth!  "  exclaimed  Jacques.  "  Why 
have  you  chosen  a  place  so  distant?  It  is  a  weary 
climb." 

"  I  cannot  give  my  reasons  now,"  replied  Raim- 
baut. He  paused  for  a  moment  to  pat  Cerberus' 
lean  ribs,  then  led  the  way  out  of  the  shadows  of  the 

2 


VALOR  AND  JOY 

courtyard,  with  Jacques  at  his  elbow  and  the  hound 
following,  his  nose  close  to  the  basket. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  square  but  old  blind 
Havoise,  who  sat  on  the  steps  of  the  church  hold- 
ing some  wax  tapers  which  she  hoped  to  sell  to  pious 
worshippers.  As  Raimbaut  hurried  by  he  caught 
sight  of  her,  and,  taking  one  of  the  cakes  from  the 
basket,  he  first  held  it  under  the  old  woman's  nose 
that  she  might  smell  of  it,  and  then  placed  it  in  her 
trembling  hand. 

Pursued  by  a  volley  of  blessings  from  Havoise, 
the  boys  swung  gaily  out  of  the  village  gate,  singing 
Duke  Guilhem's  crusader  song  at  the  top  of  their 
voices,  — 

"  Valor  and  joy  have  filled  my  heart, 
But  here  the  road  of  Life  must  part ; 
Now  on  the  heavenly  quest  I  start 
And  I  shall  rest  me  by  and  by." 

The  air  was  like  wine.  The  hedge-rows  sparkled 
in  the  sunlight,  and  the  fragrance  of  the  fields  was 
all  about  them.  They  were  drunk  with  the  joy  of 
living,  and  their  veins  full  of  the  spring  madness. 
As  they  breasted  the  hill,  they  could  see  the  Devil's 
Tooth  showing  tall  and  sinister  against  the  blue 
sky.  It  was  an  isolated  fragment  of  rock,  rising 
sheer  and  steep  from  the  hillside,  so  like  a  discol- 
ored tusk  that  it  was  easy  to  see  how  it  had  earned 
its  title  from  the  imaginative  peasants.  It  seemed 
not  far  away;  but  when  the  boys  had  climbed  until 
their  legs  rebelled,  it  still  rose  far  above  them. 

3 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

They  threw  themselves,  panting,  on  a  little  stretch  of 
brown  grass  which  grew  between  the  rocks,  Cerberus 
making  wide  circuits  around  them  in  pursuit  of  a 
visionary  quarry.  There  was  nothing  near  them 
on  the  barren  hillside  but  an  occasional  sparrow 
twittering  among  the  rocks,  and  a  lark  mounting 
higher  and  higher,  until  only  its  song  remained. 

Beneath  them  lay  the  village,  a  jumble  of  crooked 
roofs  and  winding  alleys,  dominated  by  the  church 
and  castle.  It  had  no  wall,  for  the  frugal  peasants 
had  joined  house  to  house  in  an  unbroken  chain 
running  from  the  valley  around  the  crest  of  the  hill 
and  back  again  to  the  banks  of  the  brook.  Here 
was  the  mill  with  its  turning  wheel  and  the  white 
water  flashing  in  the  sun.  They  could  see  men 
laboring  in  the  vineyards  and  olive  groves;  beyond 
stretched  the  wide  valley  of  the  Rhone  melting  into 
the  haze  of  the  distant  west. 

When  they  resumed  their  journey,  they  came 
upon  a  flock  of  goats  feeding  on  the  banks  of  a 
brook  where  the  grass  grew  soft  and  green.  In 
their  midst  stood  Benizet,  the  goatherd,  tall  and 
gaunt  and  motionless,  his  arms  folded  on  his  breast. 
He  was  clad  in  a  brown  robe  like  that  of  a  monk, 
girt  above  his  knees,  and  on  his  shoulders  there 
rested  a  goatskin  mantle.  His  head  was  bare,  his 
red  hair  bleached  by  the  sun,  his  face  serious  and 
melancholy.  He  did  not  smile  when  Jacques  cried 
out  to  him,  nor  answer  Raimbaut's  greeting;  and 
so  they  left  him,  silent  and  solitary. 

4 


VALOR  AND  JOY 

All  the  morning  the  Devil's  Tooth  seemed  to 
recede  at  their  approach.  It  was  a  full  hour  after 
noon  when  they  found  themselves  in  the  shadow  of 
the  little  wood  with  the  bleak  rock  rising  high  above 
their  heads.  For  a  time  neither  of  the  boys  spoke, 
and  even  Cerberus  was  content  to  lie  at  their  feet 
with  extended  tongue  and  panting  sides.  The  air 
was  fragrant  with  the  odor  of  the  pine  branches, 
and  the  cool  wind  blew  softly  on  their  hot  foreheads. 

At  last  Jacques  was  aroused  by  Cerberus,  who 
had  his  nose  fairly  in  the  basket;  and  after  driving 
the  dog  away,  the  miller's  lad  spread  the  food  on  a 
flat  rock,  and  the  boys  devoured  their  luncheon 
ravenously.  When  they  had  finished,  they  gave 
the  fragments  to  Cerberus  and  threw  themselves 
full  length  on  the  grass. 

Raimbaut  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  have  come  to  the  Devil's 
Tooth  to-day?  " 

"  Do,"  answered  Jacques,  "  for  I  should  be  glad 
to  know.  Faith,  we  could  have  eaten  our  luncheon 
long  ago  and  not  made  ourselves  footsore  and 
weary." 

"It  is  now  five  years  since  my  father  received 
his  hurt.  He  was  riding  home  from  the  tourna- 
ment at  Courthe*zon  at  peace  with  all  the  world, 
having  neither  feud  nor  quarrel  with  any  man.  Yet 
he  was,  without  warning,  struck  a  traitorous  blow 
which  left  him  helpless.  Though  I  was  only  a 
little  lad  of  ten,  I  can  remember  as  if  it  were  yester- 

5 


day  when  he  was  brought  to  the  castle  by  good 
Bernart,  the  troubadour.  No  clue  had  we  to  my 
father's  assailant,  but  a  wisp  of  red  roan  hair  caught 
in  the  joints  of  a  gauntlet.  This  we  believe  he 
clutched  from  the  mane  of  his  enemy's  destrier, 
as  he  was  falling  to  the  ground.  I  then  vowed  that 
I  would  search  the  whole  world  until  I  found  the 
double  of  this  wisp  of  hair,  and  every  time  I  draw 
my  sword  I  plan  to  become  a  knight  and  punish  my 
father's  foe.  When  I  am  awake,  I  have  no  doubts 
or  fears,  yet  in  my  sleep  strange  fancies  come  to 
me.  Tell  me,  Jacques,  do  you  ever  dream?  " 

"  Sometimes,  but  I  remember  nothing  in  the 
morning." 

"  Did  you  ever  dream  that  you  were  lying  on  the 
edge  of  a  precipice  and  wake  trembling  with  fright?  " 

"  I  believe  I  have  had  a  vision  in  which  I  feared 
to  fall  from  a  great  height." 

"  Again  and  again,"  continued  Raimbaut,  lifting 
himself  on  to  his  elbow  and  facing  Jacques,  who  now 
sat  upright  looking  at  his  master  with  wondering 
eyes,  —  "again  and  again  have  I  dreamt  that  I  was 
lying  on  the  top  of  the  Devil's  Tooth,  and  have 
wakened  in  a  frenzy  of  fear.  I,  who  plan  to  be  a 
knight  and  do  brave  deeds  for  the  glory  of  my 
lady,  lie  trembling  at  an  unreal  danger.  My 
father  once  told  me  that  we  dread  the  unknown 
only,  and  that  if  we  become  familiar  with  it,  our 
fright  disappears.  Long  ago  he  had  a  charger  who 
shied  and  snorted  at  the  big  mangonel  in  the  court- 

6 


VALOR  AND  JOY 

yard.  My  father  spent  many  minutes  in  persuad- 
ing him,  but  at  last  the  beast  put  his  very  nose  on 
the  mangonel  and  cribbed  playfully  at  it  with  his 
teeth.  This  morning  I  decided  I  would  try  to  cure 
myself  of  my  bad  dreams  by  coming  here  to  the 
Devil's  Tooth  and  climbing  to  the  very  top." 

"Climb  the  Devil's  Tooth!  Why,  nothing  but 
wings  could  take  you!  Have  you  forgotten  the 
shepherd  lad  who  fell  when  he  had  clambered  half- 
way up  the  cliff?  There  are  those  who  say  that  the 
boy's  spirit  wanders  through  this  very  grove  at 
nightfall." 

"At  nightfall!"  echoed  Raimbaut.  "I  believe 
ghosts  come  in  the  daytime  as  well  as  in  the  dark, 
only  we  cannot  see  them." 

The  waving  branches  sighed  and  whispered  and 
threw  weird  shadows.  There  came  a  gust  of  wind 
that  felt  like  the  chill  presence  of  the  wandering 
spirit.  Jacques  shivered;  Cerberus  whined  and 
crept  closer  to  him.  Even  Raimbaut  felt  the  in- 
fluence of  the  story,  looked  uneasily  over  his  shoul- 
der, and  began  to  whistle.  Suddenly  he  grew  silent, 
as  there  came  to  his  ears  the  faint  tinkle  of  a  silver 
bell. 

"It  is  a  falcon!  "  shouted  Jacques,  rushing  out 
into  the  sunlight,  followed  by  Raimbaut.  "It  is 
a  'scaped  bird!  Do  you  see  the  broken  jess  dan- 
gling from  its  leg?  " 

"  Yes,"  cried  Raimbaut,  shading  his  eyes  from 
the  fierce  glare  as  he  looked  up  into  the  blue  sky; 

7 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

"it  is  a  gerfalcon  as  white  as  the  dove  that  flew 
from  the  Ark!  See!  She  has  a  nest  in  that  little 
tree  growing  on  the  rock!  " 

The  boys  watched  the  beautiful  bird  as  she  flut- 
tered over  her  nest  and  fed  her  young.  She 
preened  her  feathers  for  a  little  while  in  the  bright 
sunlight,  then  spread  her  wings  and  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  was  out  of  sight. 

"  Alas!  "  said  Jacques,  "  it  is  a  pity  she  has  built 
her  nest  where  we  cannot  reach  it.  It  would  please 
your  father  more  than  a  bag  of  gold  to  have  the 
young  falcons,  if  they  are  like  their  mother." 

"  And  he  shall  have  them!  "  declared  Raimbaut, 
earnestly,  as  he  studied  the  steep  cliff  with  an  eager 
eye. 

"  You  cannot  do  it!  "  said  Jacques,  pleadingly. 

"  Do  you  see  that  narrow  ledge?  "  asked  Raim- 
baut, pointing  with  his  finger.  "  It  starts  from  the 
hillside  far  to  the  left  and  mounts  higher  and  higher 
to  the  very  top." 

"  I  see  it  plainly,"  answered  Jacques,  "  but  often 
it  narrows  and  gives  a  doubtful  foothold.  There 
are  places  where  it  breaks  off  altogether.  I  am 
sure  you  will  not  risk  your  life  on  such  a  quest. 
Would  you,  who  tremble  at  dreams,  dare  so  great  a 
danger?  " 

"  If  I  climb  not  the  cliff  to-day,  I  shall  always 
after  be  a  coward.  Neither  valor  nor  joy  can  come 
to  me.  Now  I  have  a  double  spur:  to  conquer  fear, 
and  win  my  father's  smile.  I  will  climb  the  rock 

8 


VALOR  AND  JOY 

by  the  help  of  the  saints,  and  in  spite  of  the 
Devil." 

"  You  shall  not  go!  "  cried  Jacques,  clinging  to  his 
master's  arm. 

"Indeed  I  will!"  replied  Raimbaut,  breaking 
from  the  detaining  hand,  "  and  none  shall  hinder 
me." 

He  crossed  himself,  clambered  over  the  debris  of 
loose  stones,  and  began  to  climb.  The  ledge  ran 
diagonally  up  the  face  of  the  cliff,  and  at  the  begin- 
ning Raimbaut  found  it  as  easy  as  a  staircase.  In 
fact,  it  was  little  more  perilous  than  the  irregular 
steps  which  led  to  his  own  room  in  the  castle  of 
Vacqueiras.  As  he  mounted  higher,  however,  the 
ledge  narrowed  and  became  a  mere  line  on  the  face 
of  the  cliff.  For  a  moment  only  he  hesitated. 
Then,  clinging  to  a  crevice  above  his  head,  he  crept 
slowly  along  until  he  reached  a  place  where  the 
ledge  was  wide  and  safe  again. 

Here  he  paused,  for  he  knew  he  must  husband  his 
strength.  He  was  breathing  heavily,  and  leaned 
against  the  cliff  for  support.  The  sun  was  beating 
fiercely  on  his  bare  head,  and  the  lichen-covered 
rocks  were  as  hot  to  his-  hand  as  a  baker's  oven. 
The  faint  odor  of  the  pine  trees  floated  up  to  him, 
and  the  fragrance  of  the  little  plants  which  grew  in 
the  crevices  was  sweet  to  his  nostrils. 

When  his  strength  came  back  to  him,  he  tightened 
his  belt  and  started  to  climb  again,  his  courage  ris- 
ing with  every  step.  He  was  certain  of  success, 

9 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

when  he  discovered  to  his  dismay  that  the  ledge  had 
fallen  away,  leaving  a  wide  gap  with  neither  foot- 
hold nor  hand-hold  between.  Neither  above  nor 
below  was  there  the  least  crevice  or  projection. 
Here,  indeed,  he  needed  wings  to  cross.  Courage 
alone  would  not  avail.  Perhaps  from  this  very 
spot  the  shepherd  lad  had  fallen!  As  Raimbaut 
paused  uncertain,  he  heard  a  cry  from  Jacques,  thin 
and  faint  and  ghostly :  — 

"  Come  back,  my  master!  I  pray  you  by  all  that 
is  holy,  risk  not  your  life!  " 

At  the  sound,  he  looked  down  and  saw  Jacques' 
white  face  far  below.  Up  to  this  time  Raimbaut's 
head  had  been  steady  and  his  eye  clear;  but  now, 
at  the  first  glance,  the  height-madness  seized  him 
and  his  brain  whirled.  His  knees  trembled,  and  he 
clung  to  the  cliff  lest  he  should  throw  himself  down. 

For  a  full  minute  he  struggled  against  the  delir- 
ium that  threatened,  but  when  he  opened  his  eyes, 
they  were  keen  and  confident.  He  measured  the 
distance  carefully,  and  saw  that  the  ledge  was  wide 
and  firm  beyond.  He  forced  himself  to  forget  the 
dreadful  chasm,  and  to  imagine  that  there  flowed 
a  shallow  brook  between  the  rocks.  He  stepped 
back,  took  a  few  quick  steps,  and  leaped  with  all 
his  strength.  The  thin  air  against  his  face  seemed 
to  push  him  back  with  feeble  fingers,  and  hold  him 
suspended  over  the  yawning  gulf.  For  a  moment 
he  balanced  uncertain,  and  then  fell  forward  on  his 
face,  clutching  fiercely  at  a  little  clump  of  ferns. 

10 


VALOR  AND  JOY 

He  rose  quickly  to  his  feet,  for  with  the  cross- 
ing of  the  gap  there  came  to  him  a  confidence  with- 
out a  flaw.  Higher  and  higher  he  climbed,  until  he 
found  himself  underneath  the  tree  and  could  hear 
the  young  falcons  chattering  above  him.  There 
was  a  sheer  wall  as  high,  and  almost  as  smooth,  as 
that  of  the  little  church  at  Vacqueiras.  He  studied 
this  last  obstacle  carefully.  Then,  with  clenched 
teeth,  taking  advantage  of  the  least  crevice,  he  drew 
himself  painfully  to  the  top  and  fell  almost  fainting 
on  the  green  turf. 

His  clothes  were  torn,  his  shoes  in  shreds,  his 
fingers  cut  and  bleeding.  As  he  looked  about  him, 
it  seemed  a  very  Garden  of  Eden.  There  were 
waving  grasses,  clumps  of  box  and  gorse,  rosemary, 
thyme,  and  lavender,  and  in  a  little  depression  grew 
a  wild  rose. 

He  staggered  to  his  feet  and  gave  a  cry  of  triumph, 
that  Jacques  might  know  he  had  reached  the  top  in 
safety.  He  who  trembled  at  dreams  had  faced  a 
real  danger  and  conquered.  Something  spoke  in 
his  heart  and  told  him  that  he  could  never  again  be  a 
coward.  "  Valor  and  joy  "  must  hereafter  be  his 
portion.  He  had  almost  forgotten  the  young  fal- 
cons, until  he  was  reminded  by  their  shrill  chatter 
that  his  quest  was  not  yet  crowned  with  success. 

The  little  tree  was  rooted  in  a  deep  fissure,  its 
trunk  almost  horizontal.  In  its  outer  branches  was 
the  nest,  a  ragged  framework  of  rough  sticks,  in 
which  lay  three  young  falcons  nearly  ready  to  fly. 

II 


THE  SEVERED   MANTLE 

They  promised  to  be  pure  white,  fit  for  a  king's 
gift.  Raimbaut  crept  out  on  the  trunk  of  the  tree 
without  any  thought  of  danger,  and  did  not  notice 
how  perilously  it  bent  under  his  weight,  when,  in 
spite  of  their  cries  and  menacing  beaks,  he  threw  the 
young  birds  one  after  the  other  out  into  the  air. 
He  was  beginning  to  creep  back  along  the  bending 
tree,  when  there  came  a  crash,  a  shower  of  dust  and 
earth,  and  he  found  himself  clinging  to  the  branches, 
dangling  over  the  awful  depths. 

Again  and  again  the  roots  cracked,  and  the  tree 
sank  lower  and  lower  until  it  hung  just  out  of  reach 
of  the  face  of  the  cliff. 

For  a  few  seconds  Raimbaut  was  too  stunned  to 
think,  and  could  only  clutch  instinctively.  Then 
he  made  a  determined  effort  and  drew  himself  up 
until  his  chin  was  on  a  level  with  his  hands.  He 
tried  to  grip  with  his  knees,  but  the  twigs  were  too 
slight,  and  he  slowly  sank  back,  supported  only  by 
his  bleeding  fingers.  He  realized  that  he  could  do 
nothing  more  for  himself  than  cling  to  his  frail 
support.  In  another  instant  he  must  drop  to  the 
sharp  rocks  which  seemed  to  wait  for  him  like  the 
teeth  of  some  horrible  monster. 

Was  this  to  be  the  end  of  it  all?  It  was  not  fair, 
after  he  had  conquered  Fear,  to  be  overcome  by 
treacherous  Death.  He  struggled  desperately,  but 
could  not  lift  himself  a  single  inch. 

He  cried  aloud,  "  Mother,  help  me! "  but  there 
came  no  answer  to  his  call. 

12 


VALOR  AND  JOY 

He  said  a  Pater  Noster  as  fast  as  he  could  speak 
the  words. 

He  screamed,  "  Saint  Martin,  come  to  me!  Christ, 
save  me!  " 

Still,  there  was  no  response  but  the  hideous 
echoes  from  the  rocks.  At  last,  with  white  lips  too 
weak  to  cry  aloud,  he  whispered,  "  O  Blessed  Mary, 
succor  me,  and  I  will  serve  thee  for  ever!  " 

Even  the  wind  was  silent.  He  knew  that  his 
hands  were  loosening  on  the  branch,  although  all 
feeling  had  left  them.  His  fingers  were  slipping 
over  the  rough  bark,  when  he  felt  himself  gripped 
and  drawn  upward  by  some  unseen,  mighty  power. 
Fear  and  horror  gave  way  to  a  blissful  certainty  of 
safety,  and  for  a  long  time  he  was  conscious  of  no- 
thing else. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  he  was  lying  on  his 
back  in  the  soft  grass.  Some  angel  had  been  sent  to 
rescue  him!  He  opened  his  eyes  expecting  to  see  a 
celestial  vision,  but  instead,  found  Benizet  looking 
down  into  his  face.  The  goatherd  was  pale  as 
death,  his  teeth  chattered,  and  he  was  crossing 
himself  incessantly. 

For  a  little  while  Raimbaut  was  content  to  lie 
motionless;  but  at  last  he  made  a  determined  effort 
and,  rising  to  his  knees,  found  that  the  goatherd's 
crook  was  fast  in  his  belt.  He  had  been  hooked 
like  a  trout  in  the  brook,  and  drawn  from  his  perilous 
position  by  Benizet's  strong  arm.  Raimbaut  was 
about  to  speak,  but  the  goatherd  silenced  him  with 

13 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

uplifted  hand,  and  broke  into  a  prayer  of  thank- 
fulness, terrifying  in  its  intensity.  Again  and  again 
he  repeated  the  same  prayer,  until  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  Jacques,  who  came  stumbling  over  the 
edge  of  the  cliff  and  embraced  Raimbaut,  laughing 
and  crying  in  the  same  breath. 

44  Alas,  my  master!  "  he  sobbed,  holding  Raim- 
baut in  his  arms,  and  rocking  to  and  fro  like  a  peas- 
ant-woman with  her  babe;  "  I  gave  you  up  for  dead, 
and  even  now,  I  cannot  believe  you  safe." 

"  Oh,  Jacques!  "  said  Raimbaut,  "  I  will  never 
doubt  the  power  of  prayer  again.  It  is  the  good 
saints  who  have  saved  my  life  to-day." 

44  It  is  good  Saint  Benizet,  then,"  replied  Jacques, 
41  although  I  have  never  seen  his  name  in  the 
calendar." 

'  To  Our  Lady  should  be  given  all  the  praise," 
said  Raimbaut,  "  for  it  was  to  her  I  prayed." 

At  this  Benizet  crossed  himself,  and  declared  so 
solemnly  that  Raimbaut  trembled  at  the  words,  — 

44  A  life  saved  by  prayer  belongs  to  Christ  and 
His  Church." 

For  a  long  time  Raimbaut  lay  on  his  back, 
wondering  at  the  words  of  Benizet.  When  he 
struggled  to  his  feet,  he  found  himself  quite  unable 
to  walk  even  with  the  assistance  of  Jacques' 
shoulder.  So  Benizet  took  him  on  his  back  and 
carried  him  down  a  steep  path  which  wound  among 
the  less  precipitous  rocks  on  the  eastern  side  of  the 
cliff. 

14 


VALOR  AND  JOY 

They  found  Cerberus  following  the  young  fal- 
cons frantically  over  the  hillside,  but  Jacques 
rescued  the  birds  and  placed  them,  unhurt,  in  the 
empty  basket.  So  great  was  the  goatherd's  strength 
that  he  bore  Raimbaut  back  to  the  village  without 
pausing  to  take  breath,  and  Raimbaut  walked  un- 
aided into  the  castle  and  took  his  place  at  the  table 
without  frightening  Michonne.  He  was  too  weary 
to  eat,  however.  All  the  while  Benizet's  words  were 
ringing  in  his  ears:  "  A  life  saved  by  prayer  belongs 
to  Christ  and  His  Church." 


CHAPTER  II 
SAINT  MARTIN'S  MANTLE 

SHUT  in  on  all  sides  by  high  walls,  the  courtyard 
of  Vacqueiras  was  the  very  home  of  echoes.  The 
slightest  sound  was  magnified,  as  buxom  Michonne 
could  testify,  for  on  one  sad  day  her  husband  in  the 
tower  heard  the  kiss  with  which  she  was  saluted  by 
gallant  Enric  at  the  door  below.  It  was  the  "  kiss 
passionate,"  not  the  greeting  of  courtesy,  and  re- 
sulted in  the  dismissal  of  Enric  from  the  household, 
his  handsome  face  disfigured  by  a  gash  from  lip  to 
eyebrow. 

On  this  May  morning,  it  was  not  a  matter  of 
kisses  or  of  echoes,  but  sounds  strident  and  clamor- 
ous. Raimbaut  was  engaged  in  sword-play  with 
old  Thibaud.  There  was  the  noise  of  shuffling  feet, 
the  sharp  ring  when  blade  struck  blade,  and  the 
loud  clang  when  a  blow  landed  fairly  on  a  helmet. 

Looking  down  with  lack-lustre  eyes  from  an 
embrasure  stood  Peirol,  lord  of  Vacqueiras.  He 
was  a  mountain  of  flesh,  black-bearded  and  sullen- 
faced,  with  an  expression  of  vacancy,  the  sign  of 
a  clouded  mind.  His  glance  brightened  as  Thibaud 
gave  ground  before  Raimbaut's  fierce  assault,  and 
he  turned  to  the  stairs.  Yet  so  slow  and  laborious 
was  his  descent,  that  when  he  reached  the  court- 
yard, the  bout  was  over  and  the  contestants  had 

16 


SAINT  MARTIN'S   MANTLE 

doffed  their  helmets.  Old  Thibaud  stood  leaning 
on  his  blunted  sword,  breathing  heavily,  but 
Raimbaut  had  not  turned  a  hair  in  the  encounter. 
Seeing  his  father  in  the  doorway,  he  hurried  to  him 
and  said,  — 

"  Let  me  show  you  the  young  falcons  I  captured 
yesterday.  They  are  safely  caged  in  the  demure, 
and  I  have  washed  and  trimmed  them." 

He  spoke  with  a  loud  voice,  gesticulating  freely 
in  his  efforts  to  reach  his  father's  dull  brain;  and 
taking  the  huge  hand  in  his  own,  he  led  him  over 
the  slippery  flags  to  the  cote  in  the  corner. 

No  sooner  had  Peirol  set  eyes  upon  the  young 
birds  than  he  gave  a  cry  of  wonder  and  admira- 
tion. 

"  Three  —  white  —  falcons!  "  he  exclaimed,  speak- 
ing each  word  with  difficulty.  He  was  not  content 
until  he  had  examined  and  handled  each  bird,  and 
seemed  more  like  himself  than  at  any  time  since  he 
had  received  his  hurt. 

When  Anselme  entered  the  courtyard,  he  beck- 
oned the  good  priest  eagerly  and  said  again,  "  Three 
—  white  —  falcons!  "  lifting  his  hands  in  amazement, 
and  with  an  expression  of  supreme  happiness.  He 
was  so  interested  that  Raimbaut  left  him  in  the  care 
of  Thibaud  and  followed  Anselme  to  his  room  in 
the  castle,  where  every  morning,  he  was  tutored  by 
the  priest. 

Usually  alert,  Raimbaut  was  to-day  absent- 
minded  and  lethargic.  He  listened  without  interest 

17 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

as  Anselme  told  of  Alexander's  legendary  feats,  his 
escape  from  the  Sirens,  and  other  enchantments 
no  less  dangerous.  Even  the  miraculous  bath  in 
the  fountain  which  springs  from  the  river  of  Paradise 
drew  not  a  single  wondering  glance;  and  when  the 
"  prophetic  trees  "  were  questioned  and  Alexander 
learned  that  he  must  die  in  a  year  and  a  month, 
there  was  not  a  shadow  of  sadness  on  the  boy's  face. 
Anselme  could  not  understand  what  made  him  so 
dull  and  apathetic,  yet  he  was  too  wise  to  ask, 
feeling  certain  that  Raimbaut  would  in  good  time 
unbosom  himself. 

So  the  morning  dragged  on  until  the  hour  of  noon, 
when  Raimbaut  laid  aside  the  scroll  on  which  the 
•  map  of  the  world  was  roughly  drawn.  He  took 
a  lute  from  the  corner  and  ran  his  fingers  over  the 
strings,  playing  random  melodies  and  snatches  of 
old  songs. 

Anselme  looked  up  from  the  breviary  in  his  lap 
and  said,  — 

"  Let  me  hear  the  '  Agnus  Dei,'  that  I  may  be 
sure  you  will  not  fail  me  in  the  choir  on  Sunday." 

Raimbaut  struck  a  few  notes  of  prelude,  and  then 
sang  the  sonorous  words  without  hesitation;  for 
Latin  was  little  less  familiar  to  him  than  the 
"  langue  d'Oc." 

When  he  finished,  he  changed  abruptly  to  a 
chanson  of  Bernart  de  Ventadorn's  beginning,  — 

"  So  full  of  gladness  is  my  heart 
The  earth  itself  seems  changed ! " 

18 


SAINT  MARTIN'S   MANTLE 

The  words  and  the  music  were  full  of  the  joy  of 
springtime,  but  the  song  was  far  from  merry  as 
Raimbaut  sang  it;  and  ending  with  a  clashing  dis- 
cord, he  put  the  old  lute  back  in  its  place. 

"Tell  me,"  asked  Anselme,  "which  would  you 
rather  sing,  the  music  of  the  Church,  or  the  songs  of 
the  troubadours?  " 

"I  like  them  both,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "the 
'Agnus  Dei'  at  Mass  in  the  morning,  and  songs  of 
valor,  joy  and  love  for  the  rest  of  the  day." 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  priest,  "  do  you  realize  how 
small  a  part  you  give  to  the  praise  of  God,  and  how 
much  to  the  pleasures  of  the  world?  Do  you  think 
the  good  Lord  Christ  will  be  content  with  so  poor 
a  share  of  your  devotion?" 

To  this  question  Raimbaut  gave  no  answer,  as  he 
looked  thoughtfully  into  Anselme's  clear  blue  eyes. 
It  was  only  after  a  long  silence  that  the  boy  said,  — 

"  I  shall  not  forget  my  duty  to  God,  to  Holy 
Church,  and  to  my  over-lord;  my  friend  I  will  not 
desert,  and  the  weak  will  I  protect  as  becometh  a 
good  knight ;  but  I  will  live  first  for  love,  and  song, 
and  glory.  I  would  be  a  troubabour,  and  not  a 
priest!" 

He  spoke  so  decidedly  that  Anselme  realized  that 
he  was  under  the  influence  of  some  strong  emotion; 
yet,  even  now,  the  priest  would  not  pry  into  the 
boy's  secret. 

"  You  talk  of  life  as  the  vine-dresser  on  the  hill- 
side speaks  of  the  sea  of  which  he  knows  nothing.  I 

19 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

have  learned  that  after  every  sweet  taste  there 
follows  the  flavor  of  the  bitter  almond.  The  wise 
man  gives  not  his  heart  to  love,  or  war,  or  pleasure; 
but  seeks  for  peace." 

To  this  Raimbaut  made  no  reply,  but  looked  out 
over  the  plain  towards  Courthezon.  For  a  long 
time  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  western  sky,  and 
when  at  last  he  turned  to  Anselme,  he  asked,  - 

"  Do  you  think  my  father  will  ever  recover  from 
his  hurt?" 

"  Thatmust  be  as  God  wills,"  answered  the  priest. 

"As  God  wills!"  exclaimed  Raimbaut.  "  Is  not 
the  good  Christ  who  went  about  healing  the  sick 
willing  to  restore  my  father?" 

"  God  alone  comprehends  what  is  best  for  us. 
We  can  only  pray,  and  leave  the  future  to  Him." 

"  I  cannot  juggle  with  words,"  exclaimed  Raim- 
baut. "  For  four  long  years  I  have  prayed  for  my 
father.  This  morning  I  received  the  first  sign  that 
my  petition  was  heard." 

"Yes,"  replied  Anselme,  "  Peirol  was  keenly 
interested  in  the  birds.  I  am  told  that  as  a  falconer 
he  had  no  equal  in  all  Provence.  No  nest  was  safe 
from  him;  and  when  it  came  to  the  training  of  a 
hawk,  he  could  do  more  in  a  single  month  than 
most  falconers  in  a  whole  summer.  It  was  through 
his  skill  that  he  won  a  place  with  the  Count  of 
Courthezon." 

"  All  this  I  know  right  well,"  replied  Raimbaut, 
"yet  it  is  as  a  squire  that  I  like  to  think  of  him. 

20 


SAINT  MARTIN'S  MANTLE 

Bernart  has  told  me  how  he  won  his  spurs.  While 
attempting  to  take  a  castle  in  Valence,  they  were 
themselves  attacked.  Greatly  outnumbered,  it 
was  only  through  my  father's  courage  that  they 
escaped  to  their  boats  on  the  Rhone.  Thither  he 
bore  the  Count,  severely  wounded,  on  his  own  strong 
shoulders.  I  like  to  picture  my  father  with  a  red 
sword  in  his  hand,  beating  the  enemy  back  until  all 
his  comrades  were  safe.  He  was  the  very  last  to 
step  from  shore." 

"  It  was  a  noble  deed,"  declared  Anselme,  "  and 
the  Count  was  so  grateful  for  his  rescue  that  he 
made  brave  Peirol  a  knight  then  and  there,  despite 
his  lowly  origin.  For  two  more  years  they  wan- 
dered together  on  many  a  merry  quest,  and  then 
appeared  at  Vacqueiras,  with  Michonne  seated  on  a 
stout  palfrey  and  holding  you  in  her  arms.  Here 
with  a  flourish  of  trumpets  your  father  was  pro- 
claimed Lord  of  Vacqueiras,  holding  village  and 
castle  in  fief  for  the  Count  of  Courthezon." 

"  The  Count  was  there,  and  my  father,  and  I  in 
the  arms  of  Michonne;  but  where  was  my  mother?" 
asked  Raimbaut. 

Little  prepared  for  this  abrupt  question,  Anselme 
flushed  before  Raimbaut's  searching  glance. 

"Truly,  I  know  not,"  said  the  priest. 

"She  must  have  been  somewhere,  either  in 
heaven  or  earth.  Where  has  she  been  all  these 
years"?  Where  is  she  now?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you,"  answered  Anselme. 

21 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  But  why?"  persisted  Raimbaut.  "  Every  boy 
in  the  village  has  a  mother,  and  they  are  only 
peasant  lads.  All  my  life  I  have  been  lonely.  I 
have  felt  the  lack  of  something,  I  knew  not  what. 
Only  yesterday  did  I  discover  what  it  was.  I 
climbed  the  Devil's  Tooth  and  was  near  to  death, 
hanging  over  the  jagged  rocks.  My  first  cry  for 
help  was  to  my  mother.  Then  I  called  to  Our  Lady 
St.  Mary,  and  Benizet  was  sent  to  save  me.  Tell 
me,  good  father,  what  did  the  goatherd  mean  when 
he  said,  'A  life  saved  by  prayer  belongs  to  Christ 
and  His  Church'?" 

Anselme,  whose  relations  with  Raimbaut  were 
almost  as  intimate  as  with  his  own  soul,  replied, — 

"The  life  of  every  man  belongs  to  Christ  and  to 
His  Church.  Preservation  from  death  should  but 
compel  a  stricter  consecration." 

"What  does  that  mean?"  cried  Raimbaut. 
"  Must  I  be  a  priest?  How  am  I  bound  by  my 
vow?  All  night  I  dreamed  of  it,  and  all  the  morn- 
ing have  I  been  troubled  by  my  thoughts.  I  wish 
to  be  a  troubadour.  I  love  the  joy  of  life.  Yet 
more  I  love  the  beautiful  Madonna.  Tell  me 
what  I  must  do?  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  boy's  face  was  pale  and  his  lips 
trembled  with  emotion.  For  a  long  time  Anselme 
made  no  reply.  He  was  praying  silently. 

"  The  noblest  life  is  one  of  poverty,  chastity,  and 
obedience  in  the  service  of  the  Church.  Yet  this 
must  be  of  free  will  and  without  constraint.  You 

22 


SAINT  MARTIN'S  MANTLE 

are  too  young  to  choose.  No  one,  not  even  I  who 
love  you  so  well,  can  decide  for  you.  We  all  must 
listen  for  the  voice  of  God.  To  some  there  comes  no 
command  but  to  live  a  life  of  virtue.  Others,  to 
save  their  souls,  are  bound  to  leave  the  world,  and 
flee  to  a  lonely  cell  in  the  wilderness.  The  great 
thing  is  willingness  to  obey." 

"  I  will  heed  the  voice  of  God,  though  I  love  not 
solitude.  I  dream  of  a  blissful  lady,  and  seek  a 
Perfect  Love." 

"  Perfect  Love  is  found  in  Heaven  alone.  The 
path  to  Heaven  is  paved  with  sacrifice.  To  some 
there  comes  the  Call  of  the  Cross,  and  brave  men 
part  from  all  they  hold  dear  for  death  on  the  sands 
of  Syria." 

"  I  promise  to  join  the  Crusaders,"  declared  Raim- 
baut  solemnly,  "  as  soon  as  my  arm  is  strong 
enough  to  wield  a  sword  and  level  a  lance!" 

"No,"  replied  Anselme,  "you  must  make  no 
such  vow;  for  it  may  not  be  God's  will.  Follow  in 
the  footsteps  of  the  holy  Saint  Martin  of  Tours,  your 
patron  saint.  When  he  was  a  young  soldier  in  the 
army  of  Julian  the  Apostate,  he  won  the  love  of  all 
around  him  by  the  purity  of  his  life,  and  the  kind- 
ness of  his  acts.  You  remember  how  one  day  he 
saw  in  the  streets  of  Amiens  a  poor  beggar,  half- 
naked  and  perishing  with  cold?  His  heart  was  full 
of  pity;  and  taking  his  sword,  he  divided  his  cloak 
and  gave  half  to  the  beggar.  That  night  the  Lord 
Christ  stood  before  him  in  a  vision,  and  on  His 

23 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

shoulders  He  wore  the  half-cloak  that  Martin  had 
given  to  the  beggar.  He  asked  an  angel  who 
attended  Him,  '  Know  ye  who  hath  thus  arrayed 
Me?  My  servant  Martin,  yet  unbaptized,  hath 
done  this.'  It  was  long  after  that  he  entered  the 
Church,  yet  all  the  time  he  lived  a  life  of  purity  and 
love,  and  when  God  called  him,  he  gave  up  the  world 
gladly.  You  are  not  too  young  to  bind  yourself  to 
follow  in  the  footsteps  of  Saint  Martin,  leaving  the 
question  of  your  separation  from  the  world  to  the 
God  who  governs  all." 

When  Anselme  finished,  Raimbaut  sprang  to  his 
feet,  the  light  of  a  great  enthusiasm  on  his  face. 
He  drew  his  dagger,  and,  taking  his  mantle  from  the 
wall,  slashed  it  from  collar  to  hem.  He  threw  the 
strip  of  cloth  into  the  ashes  on  the  hearth.  Then 
drawing  the  severed  mantle  over  his  shoulders,  he 
knelt  before  the  image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and, 
crossing  himself,  declared  in  his  brave  young  voice, — 

"  I  swear  to  Our  Blessed  Lady,  by  my  hope  of 
Heaven,  that  I  will  live  a  life  of  love  and  purity, 
with  the  help  of  my  patron,  good  Saint  Martin,  in 
whose  steps  I  follow.  In  proof  of  this,  and  to 
remind  me  of  my  oath,  I  will  wear  a  severed  mantle 
all  my  life." 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   GARDEN   OF  LOVE 

THE  months  that  followed  Raimbaut's  rescue 
from  death  and  the  taking  of  his  vow  were  unevent- 
ful. Only  the  good  priest  realized  how  deep  an 
impression  the  experience  had  made  upon  the  boy. 
Michonne's  frugal  soul  was  pained  when  she  saw 
the  severed  mantle,  but  she  found  no  fault,  having 
been  warned  by  Anselme.  Peirol  spent  many 
hours  daily  with  the  young  falcons,  but  grew  dull 
and  lethargic  as  soon  as  he  left  them,  and  gave  no 
hope  of  being  his  own  jolly  self  again.  The  men 
with  whom  he  had  crossed  swords,  and  the  women 
with  whom  he  had  exchanged  glances,  came  no 
longer  to  see  him;  and  so  isolated  was  the  little 
household  that  it  was  greatly  excited  when  a  mes- 
sage arrived  inviting  Raimbaut  to  go  to  Courthezon 
as  a  squire.  It  was  a  summons  from  his  over-lord, 
a  command  to  be  obeyed. 

Raimbaut  was  well-grown.  Anselme  had  taken 
great  pains  with  his  education,  and  he  had  been 
carefully  taught  by  old  Thibaud  in  all  manly  exer- 
cises; yet  he  needed  the  training  which  could 
be  obtained  only  in  a  rich  castle  with  its  large 
retinue. 

Raimbaut  received  the  summons  on  a  sultry  July 
evening,  when  he  came  tramping  into  the  court- 

25 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

yard  after  a  day  on  the  hills.  Perched  on  his  wrist 
was  a  white  falcon,  hooded  and  motionless,  as  if 
carved  in  marble.  Her  beak  and  talons  were  red 
with  blood,  and  Jacques  followed  at  his  master's 
heels  with  the  feathered  quarry  she  had  snatched 
from  the  air. 

When  Thibaud  told  the  news,  Jacques  was  vol- 
uble with  excitement;  but  Raimbaut  tethered  the 
falcon  to  the  high  sedile,  and  went  into  the  castle 
without  a  word. 

It  was  noon  on  the  next  day  when  he  announced 
his  decision  to  go  to  Courthezon.  Anselme  was 
depressed,  and  Michonne  moved  to  tears.  The 
latter,  however,  forgot  her  grief  in  anxiety  that 
Raimbaut  should  be  properly  equipped.  This  was 
a  task  of  such  magnitude  that  it  occupied  all  her 
waking  moments.  Assisted  by  the  village  tailor, 
she  cut  over  some  of  Peirol's  garments  to  her  own 
satisfaction,  although  Raimbaut  was  a  little  doubt- 
ful concerning  them.  The  tailor  had  but  one  piece 
of  cloth  rich  enough  for  the  young  lord  of  Vac- 
queiras:  this  he  had  obtained  at  the  great  fair  of 
Beaucaire,  from  a  Venetian  merchant.  The  pattern 
was  of  wonderful  complexity,  and  there  were  as 
many  colors  as  on  Joseph's  famous  coat.  So 
gaudy  was  it  that  Raimbaut  protested;  but 
Michonne,  having  the  peasant-woman's  love  of 
color,  sided  with  the  knight  of  the  shears,  and  the 
cloth  was  converted  into  a  mantle.  It  was  with  a 
feeling  of  intense  satisfaction,  however,  that  Raim- 

26 


THE  GARDEN  OF   LOVE 

baut  cut  from  it  a  huge  piece  in  proof  of  his  vow  to 
Saint  Martin. 

A  full  week  was  required  to  prepare  the  boy  from 
the  tips  of  his  pointed  shoes  to  the  peak  of  his  tall 
hat;  but  a  sunny  afternoon  found  him  equipped  for 
his  journey,  with  the  household  assembled  in  the 
courtyard  to  bid  him  farewell.  So  dazzling  was 
the  mantle,  that  Thibaud's  ancient  charger  shied 
as  he  had  not  done  for  a  decade;  and  the  half- 
broken  colt  was  so  startled  by  the  brilliant  reds 
and  yellows,  that  it  needed  all  Raimbaut's  skill  to 
mount. 

There  was  a  faint  cheer  as  he  rode  through  the 
gate,  leaving  Anselme  standing  silent  and  sorrowful, 
with  the  little  knot  of  servants.  It  was  a  melan- 
choly departure,  in  spite  of  Jacques,  who  clung  to 
Raimbaut's  stirrup,  chatting  cheerfully  all  the  way 
down  the  hill.  His  young  master  had  promised  to 
find  a  place  for  him  in  the  Count's  household,  and 
he  was  making  wonderful  plans  for  the  future. 

When  they  reached  the  round  hill,  Raimbaut 
paused  for  a  last  look  at  Vacqueiras,  and  waved  his 
hand  in  the  hope  that  his  father  might  be  looking 
from  the  embrasure;  but  Peirol  had  been  in  his  most 
sullen  mood,  and  had  apparently  understood 
nothing  at  all  of  what  had  been  told  him.  They 
came  to  the  cross-roads  where  Peirol  had  received 
his  hurt,  and  Raimbaut's  heart  was  very  tender  as 
he  turned  to  the  left  and  jogged  along  toward 
Courthezon. 

27 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

The  road  was  fetlock-deep  with  dust,  the  fields 
were  brown  and  sear,  and  there  was  not  a  breath  of 
wind  to  stir  the  branches  of  the  almond  trees.  But 
the  sun  was  shining  as  it  shines  only  on  the  fair 
land  of  Provence,  where  the  people  have  never  quite 
forgotten  to  worship  the  God  of  Fire. 

Raimbaut's  depression  had  almost  disappeared 
when  he  entered  the  big  gate  at  Courthezon  and  rode 
along  the  main  street.  It  was  neither  very  wide 
nor  very  straight;  but  there  were  fine  shops  with 
bright  colors  in  the  windows,  and  it  was  with  a  light 
heart  that  Raimbaut  entered  the  great  courtyard 
of  the  castle.  He  bade  Thibaud  farewell  at  the  gate, 
but  the  old  man-at-arms  rode  away  on  his  shaggy 
steed,  quite  unable  to  speak,  because  of  the  lump 
in  his  throat. 

The  sentinel  called  a  small  page,  playing  with  his 
companions  in  an  archway,  who  came  running  up 
and  took  Raimbaut  in  with  a  comprehensive  glance, 
which  lingered  on  the  garish  mantle.  A  most  know- 
ing little  fellow  he  was,  who  informed  him  that  the 
Count  was  in  the  garden,  and  that  the  orders  were 
to  take  Messire  Raimbaut  thither  at  once.  Giving 
a  very  low  bow,  in  which  was  a  strange  mingling  of 
official  deference  and  individual  impertinence,  he 
turned  on  his  heel,  and,  followed  by  Raimbaut,  led 
the  way  over  the  rough  stones  of  the  court. 

In  the  farther  corner  was  a  low  arch  which 
led  to  an  iron-studded  gate.  At  the  knock  of 
the  page  it  was  opened,  and  Raimbaut  entered 

28 


THE  GARDEN  OF  LOVE 

the  beautiful  cour  d? amour,  famed  throughout  all 
Provence. 

More  than  a  garden  of  love,  it  seemed  a  very- 
garden  of  Paradise  to  the  boy,  who  had  been  brought 
up  among  the  brown  rocks  of  Vacqueiras.  True, 
he  had  seen  the  glories  of  springtime,  and  the 
almond  trees  in  bloom.  He  had  inhaled  the  fra- 
grance of  the  hawthorn  by  the  road,  and  the  mignon- 
ette on  the  hillside.  He  had  stretched  full  length 
in  the  lush  grass  of  the  meadows  which  lay  outside 
the  village,  and  listened  to  the  ripple  of  the  water 
over  the  pebbles.  But  this  little  half-acre,  set  in 
an  angle  of  the  walls,  was  like  a  jewel.  He  caught 
his  breath  as  he  took  in  the  beauties  around  him, 
and  stopped  a  moment,  dazzled  by  his  surroundings. 
Here  were  no  seared  grasses  and  dust-sprinkled 
leaves.  The  hot  sun  of  the  Midi,  which  had  made 
the  country  like  a  desert  and  the  roads  tracks  of 
ashes,  had  served  here  to  force  the  vegetation  into  a 
luxuriance  almost  tropical.  And  the  reason  was  not 
far  to  seek,  for  the  ripple  of  water  was  everywhere. 
Led  by  a  viaduct  from  the  hill,  a  bubbling  stream 
ran  close  to  the  wall  and  disappeared  through  an 
aperture,  splashing  loudly  into  the  brook  below, 
which  acted  as  a  moat  to  protect  the  town.  All 
around  was  the  freshness  of  green  grass,  the  color 
of  flowers,  and  the  waving  of  graceful  branches. 
The  air  was  heavy  with  fragrance;  not  the  well- 
known  odor  of  the  hawthorn  and  almond,  but  the 
perfume  of  strange  blossoms  such  as  Raimbaut  had 

29 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

never  known  before.  His  guide  hurried  ahead  along 
the  winding  path,  and  Raimbaut  was  free  from  the 
sharp  eyes  which  lingered  so  mockingly  on  his 
gaudy  costume. 

How  the  boy  wished  he  might  wander  in  this 
garden  alone!  But  he  followed  his  guide,  whom 
he  found  waiting  impatiently  at  the  next  turning 
of  the  path.  With  the  sound  of  running  water, 
there  was  mingled  the  ripple  of  laughter  and  the 
murmur  of  voices,  which  grew  louder  as  they  neared 
the  far  corner  of  the  garden.  This  was  encircled 
by  a  hedge,  trimly  clipped,  and  a  carven  balustrade. 
It  was  approached  by  lichen-covered  steps,  which 
Raimbaut  mounted  just  as  there  came  a  few  chords 
on  the  lute,  and  a  voice  started  up  in  song:  — 

"  When  Spring  climbs  o'er  the  Southern  hill 
And  wakens  every  springing  rill, 
My  youthful  longings  then  upspring; 
Like  flowers  that  feel  the  Springtime  thrill, 
My  springing  soul  revives  until 
I  spring  the  joy  of  life  to  sing ! " 

With  every  repetition  of  the  word  "spring'7 
rolled  out  from  a  mellow  throat,  the  wind  in  the 
trees  and  the  water  in  the  fountain  seemed  to  join 
in  a  louder  undertone.  As  the  Count  sang  the  last 
line,  the  notes  were  so  high  and  so  thin  that  they 
were  lost  in  the  voices  of  the  wind  and  water. 

A  little  group  was  gathered  around  a  low  fountain, 
from  which  the  water  trickled  lazily  into  the  pool, 
and  a  half-dozen  figures  reclined  on  the  lawn,  their 

30 


THE  GARDEN  OF  LOVE 

rich  costumes  rainbowed  against  the  green  grass. 
Around  them  flitted  pages,  passing  to  and  fro  from 
a  table  covered  with  fruits  and  flasks  of  wine. 

The  first  to  notice  Raimbaut  was  a  boy  who  was 
tossing  fragments  of  wheaten  bread  to  the  fish  in 
the  pool.  His  attention  was  called  to  the  strange 
figure  at  the  entrance  by  a  huge  wolf-hound,  who 
left  his  side  and  slowly  approached  Raimbaut  with 
bristling  back,  bared  fangs,  and  angry  eyes.  The 
boy  at  the  fountain  said  nothing,  but  watched  with 
a  mocking  smile,  evidently  enjoying  Raimbaut's 
hesitation  and  anxiety,  as  he  put  his  hand  to  his 
dagger. 

Next,  a  huge  cavalier  whose  bold  black  eyes  were 
wandering  about  for  fear  some  one  would  see  him 
furtively  pressing  the  hand  of  the  lady  by  his  side, 
discovered  the  bright  mantle  at  the  steps.  He 
whispered  to  his  companion,  and  she  turned  her 
pale  face  also.  Then  one  after  another  discerned 
the  waiting  figure,  but  did  not  speak;  for  when  the 
Count  sang,  there  was  no  one  rash  enough  to  inter- 
rupt him.  So  he  warbled  on  unconscious,  his  gaze 
now  heavenward,  and  now  into  the  daring  eyes  of  a 
tall  girl  who  looked  up  saucily  into  his  face.  She 
was  slender  as  a  young  poplar,  and  clad  in  a  robe 
of  yellow  samite.  Her  attitude,  as  she  reclined 
full-length  on  the  lawn,  was  as  careless  and  unre- 
strained as  that  of  a  mountain  nymph,  and  her  long 
braids  were  like  two  gleaming  serpents  twining  in 
the  grass. 

31 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

The  Count  sang  easily  and  confidently,  but 
treated  the  high  notes  with  respect,  as  a  wise  man 
should  who  had  passed  his  fiftieth  year.  His  pose 
was  not  ungraceful,  and  his  costume  was  skilfully 
cut  and  so  disposed  as  to  conceal  his  enormous 
bulk.  His  head  was  bald,  but  time  had  brought  no 
wrinkles  to  his  cheek  nor  dimmed  the  brilliancy  of 
his  fine  eyes.  In  spite  of  his  present  grossness,  it 
was  easy  to  believe  that  a  score  of  years  ago  he 
was,  in  truth,  the  most  irresistible  gallant  in  all 
Provence. 

Raimbaut  always  remembered  his  great  name- 
sake, Count  Raimbaut  d'  Aurenga,  as  he  looked 
that  afternoon  in  his  garden  of  love  and  sang  his 
famous  song  to  the  end.  Every  note  was  carefully 
placed,  every  accent  studied,  each  glance,  each 
movement  rehearsed.  It  was  an  object-lesson  to 
one  ambitious  to  become  a  troubadour;  and  Raim- 
baut gazed  with  wonder  and  listened  with  admira- 
tion. The  Count  was  a  little  too  sure  of  applause, 
and  yet  no  one  could  help  liking  the  plump  singer 
as  he  received  the  plaudits  with  a  proud  smile  and  a 
deprecating  hand. 

"  You  are  in  rare  good  voice  to-day,  my  dear 
brother!"  said  the  pale  lady,  still  looking  at  Raim- 
baut. 

"There  is  none  like  you  in  all  Languedoc  either  to 
find  a  song,  or  sing  it!"  declared  the  dark  cavalier 
with  the  roving  eye. 

"And  as  a  proof  of  your  skill,  my  good  lord,  look 

32 


THE  GARDEN  OF  LOVE 

you  at  the  Bird  of  Paradise  with  the  bright  feathers, 
which  has  flown  down  to  us  from  the  heavens!" 

The  last  words  were  from  the  tall  girl  reclining 
on  the  grass,  whose  laughing  eyes  were  turned  on 
Raimbaut  as  he  stood  waiting  doubtfully. 

At  this  the  boy  by  the  pool  gave  a  low  whistle 
which  called  back  his  dog,  and  the  little  page,  who 
had  taken  occasion  to  help  himself  to  a  glass  of 
wine  unnoticed,  made  a  low  bow  and  announced: 
"  Messire  Raimbaut  of  Vacqueiras." 

Raimbaut  never  quite  forgot  his  sensations  as  he 
stepped  forward  into  the  circle  of  richly  apparelled 
people  by  the  fountain.  Impressionable  to  a  de- 
gree, he  knew  he  was  badly  dressed,  and  that  each 
well-cut,  perfect  fitting  garment  cried  out  in  derision 
against  his  own  village-made  costume.  He  felt 
that  all  the  company  were  unfriendly  or  contemp- 
tuous, and  that  they  waited  only  for  their  cue  from 
the  Count  to  make  him  the  butt  of  their  sharp  wits. 
His  gay  mantle  seemed  to  burn  his  shoulders,  as  if 
it  were  the  flame  of  fire  it  resembled.  Yet  he  did 
not  flinch  as  he  faced  the  Count  and  waited  for  his 
lord  to  speak. 

There  was  but  a  moment  of  doubt  as  the  Count 
looked  searchingly  into  his  gray  eyes;  then  stretch- 
ing out  a  plump  white  hand,  he  drew  the  boy  to 
him  and  bestowed  a  kiss  on  his  cheek. 

"  Welcome  to  Courthezon, "  he  said,  a  trifle 
huskily,  as  if  the  song  had  been  too  much  for  him. 
"  Welcome  to  Courthezon,  my  lad,  and  may  you 

33 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

find  it  a  kind  home!  How  fares  the  good 
Peirol?" 

"He  is  well,  my  lord,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "and 
sends  his  respects  to  you." 

"  Sorry  am  I,"  said  the  Count,  "  that  he  cannot 
bring  them  instead.  A  good  comrade  was  he  to  me 
for  many  a  long  day.  You  are  welcome  to  Cour- 
thezon  for  his  sake.  To-morrow  you  shall  receive 
your  sword  in  the  chapel.  To-night  you  must  go 
fasting  to  bed ;  but  as  the  sun  is  not  yet  behind  the 
hills,  you  may  eat  and  drink  your  fill  at  the  table. 
I  envy  you  the  thirst  which  a  ride  from  Vacqueiras 
must  give  you.  I  remember  every  foot  of  the  road. 
Pained  am  I  that  I  must  seem  forgetful  of  my  good 
friend,  but  the  pressure  of  affairs  and  the  weight  of 
this  unwieldy  body,  make  it  well-nigh  impossible  for 
me  to  mount  a  horse." 

There  was  no  longer  doubt  of  the  Count's  good- 
will. The  first  to  step  forward  was  the  tall  cavalier 
with  a  smile  on  his  olive  cheek,  as  he  introduced 
himself  as  "Guilhem  of  Berguedan  —  your  father's 
friend  and  comrade."  He  was  suavity  itself,  and 
his  voice  like  honey;  but  Raimbaut  felt  irresponsive 
in  spite  of  the  cordiality  of  the  giant  Spaniard,  for 
he  liked  him  not. 

The  Countess  des  Baux  spoke  a  few  gracious 
words,  in  tones  untouched  by  any  note  of  friendli- 
ness. The  Count,  her  husband,  a  sunburnt  knight, 
looking  out  of  place  in  the  gay  company,  rose  from 
the  shadow  of  the  hedge,  took  Raimbaut  by  the 

34 


THE  GARDEN  OF  LOVE 

hand,  and  wished  that  he  might  become  as  good  a 
knight  as  his  father. 

"I  have,"  said  he,  "a  helmet  at  home  which 
Peirol  spoiled  for  me  at  the  tournament  at  Beau- 
caire.  He  sliced  a  piece  from  it  as  if  it  had  been  the 
rind  of  a  cheese." 

One  after  the  other,  they  all  spoke  to  Raimbaut. 
Last  of  all,  the  demoiselle  with  the  blue  eyes  put  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder  and  asked,  — 

"  Why  came  you  not  to  me  a  month  ago,  my 
pretty  boy?  Now  am  I  promised  to  marry  this 
ugly  Count  of  Cabaret,"  pointing  to  a  tall  young 
cavalier  with  thin  legs  and  a  vacuous  smile,  who 
stood  behind  her.  "You  are  much  more  to  my 
liking;  but  alas,  you  come  too  late!" 

She  spoke  reproachfully,  toying  with  a  fold  of  his 
cloak.  She  was  clearly  laughing  at  him,  but  there 
was  a  caressing  tone  in  her  voice;  and  the  dimples 
in  her  cheek  were  displayed  as  a  sure  sign  of  friend- 
liness. Her  remarks  were  a  signal  for  much  jollity, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  Count  was  silent  and 
thoughtful  in  his  huge  chair  by  the  fountain. 

"Alas!"  she  exclaimed,  "how  came  this  misfor- 
tune upon  you?  You  have  torn  a  piece  from  your 
fine  mantle:  and  truly,  I  have  never  seen  its  like 
before!" 

Raimbaut  hesitated  a  moment,  for  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  be  serious  in  answer  to  such  gaiety. 

"  I  must  tell  you,"  said  he  at  last,  looking 
bravely  into  the  beautiful  face,  "  that  the  piece 

35 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

was  severed  by  my  own  dagger  to  remind  me  of  a 
vow." 

At  this  Loba  (for  such  he  learned  was  the  young 
girl's  name)  laughed  long  and  merrily. 

"  Listen  to  that ! "  she  cried.  "  This  lad  has  taken 
upon  himself  a  vow,  as  if  he  were  already  a  knight 
or  troubadour.  Come,  tell  me  what  you  have  sworn 
to  do,  or  not  to  do!  I  like  nothing  better  than  to 
help  break  a  solemn  oath!" 

"It  is  no  great  thing,"  answered  Raimbaut, 
"though  it  means  much  to  me.  I  have  sworn  to 
follow  in  the  footsteps  of  my  patron,  Saint  Martin 
of  Tours,  living  a  life  of  purity  and  charity  toward 
all.  I  have  resolved  also  to  seek  the  Perfect  Love 
with  a  single  heart,  careless  where  my  quest  may 
lead  me." 

"Here  is  a  second  Galahad  come  among  us!" 
cried  Loba;  "and  truly,"  said  she,  turning  to  Ber- 
guedan,  who  was  smiling  over  her  shoulder,  "  the 
boy  could  not  be  in  a  better  place  than  Courthezon. 
We  are  all  disciples  of  love,  are  we  not?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Berguedan,  "we  are  of  the  same 
brotherhood,  he  and  I.  Love  has  always  been  the 
goal  toward  which  I  have  struggled." 

"  I  warrant  you  do  not  travel  far  on  the  same  path 
with  this  earnest  lad!"  murmured  Loba,  serious  for 
the  moment.  Then  she  shrugged  her  shoulders 
impatiently,  took  Raimbaut  to  the  table,  and  filled 
two  generous  glasses  of  wine. 

"  Come,"  said  she,  "  my  young  Saint  Martin,  you 

36 


THE  GARDEN  OF  LOVE 

had  me  for  the  moment  looking  into  the  cell  of  a 
nunnery,  though  I  am  not  yet  ready  to  give  up  a 
very  pleasant  world.  You  cannot  refuse  to  drink 
with  me,  when  I  wish  you  success  in  your  quest  of 
the  Perfect  Love?" 

Raimbaut  had  touched  nothing  since  early  morn- 
ing; but  the  rich  wine,  flaming  into  his  cheeks, 
made  less  riot  in  his  blood  than  Loba's  smiles. 
Indeed,  he  could  not  eat  until  she  had  left  him,  and 
had  gone  to  the  Count,  to  sit  again  at  his  feet  and 
gradually  win  him  back  to  a  jovial  mood  with  her 
bright  sallies. 

The  boy  with  the  hound  had  come  forward  readily 
enough  when  presented  as,  "  My  sister's  son, 
Guilhem  des  Baux.  He  is  of  your  own  age,  and 
mayhap  you  may  be  good  comrades,  as  were  Peirol 
and  I  in  the  old  days,  before  I  had  grown  a  moun- 
tain of  flesh,  and  he  had  come  to  his  grievous  hurt. " 

It  was  the  first  time  Raimbaut  had  met  a  boy  of 
gentle  blood,  and  his  heart  went  out  in  friendliness 
toward  the  handsome  lad  who  spoke  so  softly  and 
pleasantly.  A  trifle  taller  than  Raimbaut,  he  was 
not  so  broad  and  sturdy.  His  cheeks  were  red  and 
white,  where  Raimbaut's  were  red  and  brown  from 
the  constant  caresses  of  the  sun;  but  there  was  a 
subtle  resemblance  between  them  as  they  faced 
each  other.  He  asked  Raimbaut  many  questions 
concerning  Vacqueiras,  which  he  had  never  visited, 
although  he  had  ridden  near  its  walls  when  far 
afield  with  the  hawks.  The  dog  followed  close  at 

37 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

Guilhem's  heels,  a  malevolent  light  in  her  red 
eyes. 

"Which  like  you  best,"  asked  he  innocently, 
"  the  falcons,  or  the  dogs?" 

"The  falcons,"  answered  Raimbaut.  "I  have 
some  at  home  which  I  took  from  the  nest  with  my 
own  hand.  I  should  be  glad  to  test  one  of  them 
with  any  good  bird  here  in  Courthezon.  I  like  a 
dog,  too,"  he  continued;  "but  this  of  yours,  it  is 
very  plain,  loves  me  not. " 

Indeed,  the  wolf-hound  seemed  about  to  spring 
at  him,  but  the  Count  des  Baux  hit  her  a  shrewd 
clout,  at  which  she  crept  slowly  away,  not  deigning 
to  howl. 

"  Oh !  Touche  is  a  gentle  beast, "  declared  Guilhem 
easily;  "  a  trifle  doubtful  of  strangers,  but  in  a  day 
or  two  sure  to  be  friendliness  itself." 

"  Friendly,  say  you ! "  exclaimed  his  father.  "  She 
is  possessed  by  a  devil.  There  is  scarce  a  varlet  in 
the  castle  but  has  felt  her  teeth,  and  yesterday,  the 
young  squire  from  Avignon  left  half  his  mantle  in 
her  mouth  when  he  rode  away.  I  warned  you  then, 
that  should  she  bite  again,  I  would  have  her  killed 
without  mercy.  She  was  always  an  evil  beast;  yet 
I  have  never  seen  her  so  malevolent  as  with  the 
young  sire  of  Vacqueiras  here." 

"A  nasty-tempered  brute  indeed!"  muttered  the 
Count  of  Cabaret  with  a  shrug;  and  Berguedan 
declared  with  an  oath,  — 

"  Choose  you  rope,  poisoned  bone,  or  dagger;  I 

38 


THE  GARDEN  OF  LOVE 

will  furnish  either,  and  dance  on  her  grave  with  a 
joyful  heart." 

At  this  there  was  a  chorus  of  condemnation, 
under  which  Touche,  as  if  understanding  every 
word,  slunk  sullenly  to  the  shelter  of  the  hedge. 
She  was  soon  forgotten;  for  Berguedan,  who  had 
been  asked  to  sing,  struck  a  chord  or  two  and 
swung  into  a  song  of  Catalonia.  He  was  a  famous 
troubadour:  his  song  was  new,  full  of  the  passion  of 
his  native  land,  and  at  the  end  he  received  plaudits 
little  less  hearty  than  were  given  to  Count  Raim- 
baut  himself. 

Then  the  fair  Loba  told  a  story.  Her  face  was 
innocent  and  in  her  voice  the  echoes  of  childhood 
still  lingered.  It  was  no  child's  story  she  told, 
however.  The  jolly  company  laughed  and  almost 
wept  for  merriment,  but  Raimbaut,  though  he 
listened  with  all  his  ears,  could  not  understand. 
His  education  at  Vacqueiras  had  not  prepared  him 
for  a  tale  like  this. 

So  the  time  passed  pleasantly,  until  the  shadows 
grew  long;  with  the  set  of  sun  the  circle  broke  up, 
and  they  wended  their  way  through  the  iron-studded 
gate  into  the  courtyard. 

The  Count,  inquiring  carefully  concerning  Peirol, 
walked  with  Raimbaut,  and  turned  him  over  to 
the  seneschal,  who  took  him  to  a  little  room  high 
up  in  the  tower. 

Raimbaut  had  learned  that  he  was  to  spend  the 
evening  fasting  and  in  meditation.  Early  in  the 

39 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

morning  must  come  confession;  after  which,  in  the 
chapel,  he  should  receive  his  sword  as  a  badge  of 
his  rank. 

When  the  seneschal  left  him,  Raimbaut  cast  off 
the  parti-colored  mantle  which  had  grown  so  heavy 
on  his  shoulders.  He  troubled  not  to  hang  it  on  the 
wall,  but  threw  it  on  the  floor;  and  for  a  long  time 
stood  at  the  narrow  aperture  of  his  window  and 
looked  out  over  the  fields  toward  Vacqueiras.  His 
heart  went  out  toward  his  old  home;  toward  his 
father  —  he  could  see  him  sitting  silent  at  his 
window;  toward  Anselme  on  his  knees  in  the  church, 
and  old  Thibaud  carefully  tending  the  falcons.  Of 
Benizet  and  Jacques  he  thought  regretfully,  and  of 
Michonne  going  about  her  work  with  a  heavy  heart. 
Of  one  person  only  in  all  Vacqueiras  did  he  think 
angrily,  and  that  was  the  tailor  who  had  made  the 
mantle,  now  spread,  a  mimic  sunset,  on  the  cold 
stones  of  the  floor. 

When  he  had  thrown  off  his  clothes  and  crept 
into  bed,  he  lay  a  long  time  awake.  His  medita- 
tions ran  little  on  the  morrow  and  what  it  meant 
to  him  —  his  first  step  toward  knighthood.  Of  the 
religious  side  of  the  rite  he  thought  not  at  all.  He 
went  over  the  last  few  hours  again  and  again.  One 
after  another,  the  merry  company  in  the  garden  of 
love  passed  before  him.  How  kind  the  Count  had 
been!  Would  Guilhem  be  his  friend?  On  Loba 
he  thought  longest:  he  could  see  her  slender  young 
figure  in  the  yellow  robe  as  she  faced  him,  her  hand 

40 


THE  GARDEN  OF  LOVE 

in  the  folds  of  his  mantle.  He  could  see  her  blue 
eyes  with  the  mixture  of  laughter  and  liking  in 
them,  the  dimples  in  her  cheek,  and  the  red  lips 
parted  in  a  smile.  He  fell  asleep  thinking  of  her; 
but  his  dreams  were  not  of  Loba,  for  all  night  long 
he  was  face  to  face  with  Touche.  The  gaunt  wolf- 
hound was  waiting  to  spring  on  him,  her  teeth  bared, 
the  ruff  on  her  neck  erect  with  anger,  her  red  eyes 
ablaze  with  hatred.  She  seemed  the  incarnation 
of  an  evil  spirit  which  had  come  into  his  world, 
against  which  he  must  struggle,  and  which  would 
throttle  him  if  he  proved  not  brave  and  strong. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE   TOLEDO    BLADE 

WHEN  Raimbaut  awoke  from  his  troubled  sleep, 
the  wind  was  blowing  and  the  rain  beating  against 
the  castle  walls.  The  mistral,  like  a  demon  let 
loose,  had  swooped  down  from  lofty  Ventoux,  and 
the  valley  was  trembling  beneath  his  wrath.  For  a 
short  distance  Raimbaut  could  follow  the  road  to 
Vacqueiras,  but  the  village  itself  had  disappeared, 
and  left  him  with  a  feeling  of  loneliness  such  as  he 
had  not  known  since  he  rode  out  of  its  creaking  gate. 

He  had  no  way  of  telling  what  the  hour  was.  He 
hurried  into  his  clothes,  crept  down  the  stairs,  and 
tiptoed  into  the  dimly  lighted  chapel.  He  had 
barely  ended  his  examen  of  conscience  when  there 
appeared  the  rosy-cheeked  little  chaplain,  who 
greeted  him  with  a  smiling,  "  God  be  with  you,  my 
son;"  rubbing  his  sleepy  eyes  as  he  spoke. 

Confession  to  such  a  kindly  soul  was  not  an 
ordeal,  and  Raimbaut  had  not  many  sins  to  tell. 
Neither  was  the  ceremony  at  the  altar  a  long  one, 
and  it  was  only  when  the  priest  took  the  sword  from 
its  resting-place  between  the  candles,  that  the  boy 
began  to  comprehend  the  meaning  of  the  rite.  He 
had  always  thought  of  the  sword  as  a  shining  blade 
with  a  jewelled  hilt,  by  which  he  should  carve  his 
way  to  fame  and  fortune.  He  had  planned  with 

42 


THE  TOLEDO  BLADE 

it  to  perform  brave  deeds  which  should  be  known 
not  only  in  sunny  Provence,  but  beyond  the  Alps 
and  Pyrenees.  He  had  seen  himself  beating  down 
all  before  him  in  the  lists,  and  bowing  before  the 
Queen  of  Beauty  as  she  leaned  from  her  high  dais 
to  bestow  a  golden  goblet,  saying,  "  Brave  knight, 
receive  this  prize  of  valor;  wear  it  as  you  have 
won  it!" 

But  here  in  the  dark  chapel  no  thought  of  his 
lady  could  penetrate,  and  the  sword  in  the  priest's 
hand  was  dull  and  plain.  Even  the  priest  had 
changed.  He  was  no  longer  a  small  man  with  rosy 
cheeks,  but  a  stern  servant  of  the  Church  of  God  as 
he  said,  — 

"  To-day  you  lay  aside  your  boyhood,  and  take 
upon  yourself  manly  duties  which  this  sword  typi- 
fies. It  is  your  first  step  toward  knighthood." 

As  Raimbaut  knelt  on  the  cold  gray  stones,  the 
wheezy  voice  became  strong  and  sonorous :  — 

"  Beware,  my  son,  lest  you  take  this  sword  care- 
lessly with  thoughts  only  of  earthly  glory." 

When  the  benediction  was  pronounced,  Raim- 
baut felt  as  if  he  had  stepped  into  deep  waters,  and 
as  he  rose  and  stood  erect,  his  face  was  pale  and  his 
eyes  lustrous.  The  priest  hung  the  baldric  over 
the  boy's  shoulder  with  the  last  solemn  words  of  the 
ceremony :  — 

"  Receive  this  sword  in  the  name  of  the  Father, 
and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  Use  it  for 
your  own  defence,  and  that  of  the  weak;  use  it  to 

43 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

protect  the  holy  Church  of  God,  and  for  the  con- 
fusion of  the  enemies  of  the  Cross  of  Christ." 

A  moment  only  they  stood  before  the  altar  in 
silence,  the  boy's  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword. 
Presently  the  chubby  little  priest  turned  on  his  heel 
with  a  quiet  but  hearty,  —  "  Now,  my  lad,  you  are 
a  squire  indeed.  Get  you  to  breakfast,  and  per- 
form valiant  deeds  with  knife  and  trencher."  Yet 
not  even  these  unheroic  words  could  dispel  the 
feeling  of  awe  which  had  come  over  Raimbaut. 

For  a  long  time  he  lingered  in  the  chapel,  full  of 
thoughts  which  he  could  not  fathom.  "  In  the 
name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy 
Ghost"  —  "to  protect  the  Church  "  —  "for  the  con- 
fusion of  His  enemies"  -"for  your  own  defence" 
the  priest  had  said;  but  not  one  word  of  "  honor" 
or  of  his  "  lady."  Even  before  the  altar,  he  whis- 
pered, "  The  Church  shall  have  her  own;  yet  will  I 
live  for  love,  for  song,  and  glory. " 

He  found  the  rain  was  still  pouring  from  the 
leaden  clouds,  the  wind  blowing  furiously  even  in 
the  shelter  of  the  towers,  and  the  courtyard  ankle- 
deep  with  water.  He  was  looking  out  doubtfully 
from  the  church  door,  when  a  page  appeared 
suddenly  before  him,  shook  the  rain-drops  from  his 
mantle,  and  gazed  ruefully  at  his  wet  feet. 

"  At  last,  Messire  Raimbaut,  I  have  run  you  to 
earth,"  he  declared.  "My  master  is  shut  in  his 
room  with  a  chill  he  caught  in  the  garden  yesterday. 
He  wishes  to  see  you." 

44 


THE  TOLEDO  BLADE 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  had  a  long  search, "  replied 
Raimbaut.  "Show  me  the  way  quickly,  lest  my 
master  be  angry." 

"It  will  not  hurt  him  to  wait, "  declared  the  page, 
as  a  violent  blast  swept  across  the  yard,  bearing 
with  it  a  torrent  of  rain.  "  Do  you  see  the  gentle 
Touche  watching  us  under  the  arch?  We  shall  be 
lucky  to  pass  her  with  only  a  rent  in  our  mantles 
and  none  in  our  hides." 

It  was  with  a  strong  feeling  of  repulsion  that 
Raimbaut  looked  at  the  vicious  beast  lurking  in  the 
shadows,  and  he  felt  a  chill  to  his  very  marrow  while 
the  little  page  told  his  story. 

"  Do  you  know  the  tale  the  huntsman  tells  of 
Touche?  He  declares  she  was  once  a  good  dog, 
kindly  with  every  one,  unequalled  in  the  chase. 
One  day  while  hunting  in  the  dense  forests  of 
Ventoux  she  killed  a  huge  wolf,  which  made  strange 
sounds  like  that  of  a  man  in  his  death-agony. 
From  that  day,  she  was  a  changed  dog,  going  about 
sullen  and  resentful.  When  the  huntsman  is  in 
his  cups,  he  never  fails  to  claim  that  it  was  a  were- 
wolf that  Touche  killed,  and  that  the  soul  of  the 
evil  man,  escaping  from  the  carcase  of  the  wolf, 
took  possession  of  the  body  of  Touche.  It  is  for 
this  reason  she  goes  about  in  enmity  with  all  the 
world.  Everyone  fears  her  bite  lest  he  be  filled  with 
her  evil  spirit.  No  one  dare  slay  her,  for  he  may 
be  possessed  by  the  devil  set  free  at  her  death." 

While  the  tale  was  being  told,  Touche  was  slowly 

45 


THE  SEVERED   MANTLE 

approaching  the  two  lads,  snarling  angrily  and 
eyeing  them  viciously.  Raimbaut's  hand  crept 
again  to  his  dagger,  but  the  little  page  reassured 
him  by  saying,  - 

"  She  will  not  touch  us,  here  on  the  threshold  of 
the  church." 

Whether  the  sacred  building  would  have  been  a 
sufficient  sanctuary  was  left  in  doubt,  for  just  then 
there  came  a  shrill  whistle,  at  which  Touche  started, 
and  turning  reluctantly  from  them,  slunk  across 
the  rain-swept  courtyard. 

Raimbaut  followed  his  guide  up  the  winding 
stairs,  and  found  his  lord,  clothed  in  a  long  pelisse 
of  blue  velvet,  shivering  before  a  fire  which  made  the 
room  like  a  baker's  oven.  His  face  was  flushed  and 
his  breathing  difficult.  The  boy  gasped  for  air  as 
the  Count  greeted  him,  - 

"  Well,  my  lad,  you  are  now  a  squire,  and  can 
look  forward  to  your  golden  spurs.  I  remember 
well  the  morning  when  I  received  my  sword.  It 
was  not  a  day  like  this,  but  fair  and  smiling.  I  can 
call  to  mind  the  priest's  words  and  my  own  thoughts, 
though  two-score  years  have  passed.  Alas,  that  I 
kept  not  to  the  high  resolves  I  made  that  day!  " 

The  Count  began  cheerfully,  but  ended  with  a 
note  of  sadness.  He  sank  into  a  brown  study, 
looking  into  the  fire,  and  occasionally  shaking  his 
head  at  unpleasant  memories.  For  a  while  he 
seemed  quite  to  lose  himself,  but  he  awoke  suddenly 
from  his  revery  with  a  pious,  "  May  the  saints  plead 

46 


THE  TOLEDO  BLADE 

for  me,  and  the  good  God  forgive!'*  Then  turning 
to  Raimbaut,  he  said,  — 

"It  was  the  taking  down  of  this  sword  last  night, 
my  boy,  that  brought  back  memories  to  me  that  were 
well-nigh  dead.  It- was  this  sword  and  your  pres- 
ence. Come  close  to  the  firelight,  that  I  may  look 
at  you." 

The  Count  raised  his  huge  body  upright  in  the 
chair,  and  gazed  into  Raimbaut's  face  until  the  boy 
reddened  at  the  long  scrutiny. 

"Yes,  my  lad,  you  are  like,  very  like,"  he  said 
huskily,  putting  his  hand  on  Raimbaut's  shoulder 
and  drawing  him  closer. 

The  latter  was  filled  with  wonder.  Why  did  his 
presence  recall  "  memories  well-nigh  dead"  ?  Whom 
did  he  resemble?  What  was  the  reason  of  the 
Count's  sudden  interest  in  one  whom  he  had  never 
cared  to  see,  although  Vacqueiras  was  but  a  few 
leagues  away? 

Suddenly  the  Count's  mood  changed  and  he 
spoke  cheerfully. 

"Well,  my  boy,  how  do  you  like  your  sword? 
It  looks  a  worthless  blade,  does  it  not?  The  baldric 
is  worn  and  shabby  too,  for  it  has  hung  on  these 
walls  untouched,  a  dozen  years;  yet  the  leather  is 
from  Cordova  and  was  once  brave  and  bright  and 
sightly.  But  the  baldric  matters  not  much,  after 
all.  Draw  the  sword  and  let  me  see  it.  This  blade 
was  forged  in  far  Toledo,  and  in  the  waters  of  the 
Tagus  was  it  tempered.  There  is  not  its  equal  in 

47 


THE  SEVERED   MANTLE 

all  Provence,  and  in  the  hilt  there  is  a  hair  of  Saint 
Martin  himself.  Take  it  and  see  how  firm  a  grip 
it  gives.  Swing  it  over  your  head  and  feel  its 
balance.  Note  how  light  it  is  and  how  quickly  the 
blow  follows  the  hand;  yet  it  will  cut  deeper  than 
a  blade  twice  its  weight,  and  its  edge  will  not  turn 
against  helmet  or  mail  of  proof." 

As  the  Count  spoke,  Raimbaut  examined  the 
sword  carefully,  then  swung  it  over  his  head,  strik- 
ing to  right  and  left  against  imaginary  assailants. 
He  made  a  pretty  picture  in  the  bright  firelight,  and 
the  Count  watched  him  with  an  expression  of 
mingled  admiration  and  sadness. 

"  How  did  you  come  by  it,  my  lord?"  inquired  the 
boy  wonderingly.  "  Tell  me,  you  did  not  buy  it, 
but  won  it  in  a  tourney  or  on  the  field  of  battle?  " 

"Alas!  through  no  deed  of  daring  did  I  gain  this 
sword,"  replied  the  Count.  "A  woman's  white 
hand  gave  it:  a  woman  who  loved  me,  and  of  whom 
I  was  not  worthy." 

"And  yet,"  interposed  Raimbaut,  "  I  doubt  not 
that  brave  deeds  were  done  to  win  the  lady's  favor, 
or  the  sword  had  gone  elsewhere.  I  like  it  better 
for  the  lady's  part;  but  tell  me  why  you  give  it  now 
to  me,  who  have  no  right  to  carry  so  good  a  blade. " 

As  Raimbaut  asked  this  question,  his  eyes  lost 
their  dreaminess  and  he  looked  into  the  Count's 
face  keenly.  But  the  latter  answered,  — 

"Perhaps  it  is  my  fancy,  without  excuse;  perhaps 
because  your  eyes  and  hair  remind  me  of  the  lady 

48 


THE  TOLEDO  BLADE 

of  long  ago.  It  may  be  it  is  the  way  you  hold  your 
chin,  a  trick  of  speech,  or  a  vagrant  tone  in  your 
voice.  Whatever  my  reason,  the  sword  is  yours. 
May  you  bear  it  worthily,  and  with  it  win  great 
glory  for  yourself  and  the  lady  whom  you  praise." 
He  spoke  quickly,  almost  feverishly,  and  continued 
with  scarce  a  pause:  "That  reminds  me,  I  have  not 
yet  heard  your  voice.  There  is  a  lute  in  the  corner. 
I  will  listen;  sing  what  you  will." 

Raimbaut  laid  down  his  sword,  and  taking  up 
the  lute,  sang  one  of  the  Count's  own  chansons :  — 

"  So  tenderly  she  smiles  on  me 
I  think  that  Heaven  has  opened  wide; 
Four  hundred  angels  I  might  see ; 
Yet  still  I  vow  on  bended  knee 
I  would  not  wander  from  her  side." 

When  he  finished,  the  Count  applauded  enthu- 
siastically. He  clapped  his  fat  hands  and  cried,  — 

"Bravo!  Bravo!  I  have  never  done  it  better 
myself!  Your  voice  has  rare  quality  and  you  have 
a  touch  like  Bernart  in  his  prime.  Of  course,  you 
could  not  help  being  a  singer,  for  it  is  in  the  blood. 
I  should  have  known  it  before  you  opened  your 
mouth." 

Raimbaut  was  about  to  put  the  lute  back  in  the 
corner,  greatly  pleased  at  the  praise  which  he  had 
won,  when  the  Count  stopped  him  and  asked,  — 

"  Do  you  know  the  Aubado  of  the  Countess  of 
Dia?" 

" '  Under  the  hawthorn  branches,  wind-caressed?"1 

49 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

exclaimed  Raimbaut.  "It  is  the  most  perfect  song 
that  has  ever  been  found.  I  know  and  love  every 
word  of  it." 

Raimbaut  struck  a  few  diminishing  minor  chords 
on  his  lute,  and  then  sang  with  wonderful  feeling 
for  one  so  young :  - 

"  Under  the  hawthorn  branches,  wind -caressed, 
She  laid  her  head  upon  her  lover's  breast, 
Till  cried  the  guard,  '  Day  comes,  a  welcome  guest ! ' 
O  God  !    Why  comes  the  dawn  so  soon  ? 

" '  Would  that  the  shadows  ne'er  might  pass  away ! 
Would  you  might  linger  by  my  side  for  aye  ! 
Would  that  the  sentry  had  not  seen  the  day ! 
O  God !     Why  comes  the  dawn  so  soon? 

" '  Before  the  bird-songs  in  the  meadow  start 
Give  me  one  kiss,  one  thirsty  kiss,  sweetheart ! 
Fear  not  for  jealous  glances  as  we  part ! 
O  God  I    Why  comes  the  dawn  so  soon? 

" '  One  last  caress,  one  blessed  farewell  word 
Under  this  jewelled  hedgerow,  for  I  heard 
The  first  low  chanson  of  a  waking  bird. 
O  God !    Why  comes  the  dawn  so  soon  ? 

" '  He  's  gone !    Above  his  head  the  sky  glows  pink ; 
The  breeze  is  perfume-laden,  and  I  think 
It  is  my  darling's  fragrant  breath  I  drink ! 
O  God !    Why  comes  the  dawn  so  soon  ? ' 

"  Blissful  the  lady  all  the  wide  world  knew ; 
Knights  rode  afar  for  her  white  hand  to  sue, 
Yet  still  she  cried  —  loyal  of  heart  and  true  — 
'  O  God !     Why  comes  the  dawn  so  soon  ? '  " 

Until  the  music  ended,  the  Count  sat  facing  the 
fire,  his  eyes  shaded  by  his  hand.  What  was  the 

50 


THE  TOLEDO   BLADE 

boy's  dismay  to  see  the  unwieldy  form  suddenly 
collapse,  and  break  into  a  torrent  of  tears  and  inco- 
herent words!  Again  and  again  Raimbaut  caught 
the  name,  "Philippa!  Philippa!"  in  tones  of  love 
and  longing.  The  Count  seemed  to  be  making  a 
plea  for  pardon  and  a  promise  of  atonement,  for- 
getting all  else  but  memories  of  the  past. 

Minute  followed  minute,  and  at  last  the  sobs 
ceased  altogether,  and  the  Count  composed  himself. 
He  turned  to  Raimbaut. 

"  My  boy,  I  have  much  to  tell  you,  but  I  am  not 
strong  enough  to-day.  To-morrow  I  will  send  for 
you." 

He  kissed  Raimbaut  absent-mindedly,  his  lips 
hot  with  fever.  His  last  strange  words  were,  — 

"  May  you  prove  always  faithful  to  God  and  loyal 
to  your  lady!  May  God  forgive  me  if  I  counsel  you 
to  sin  against  Him,  rather  than  be  untrue  to  the 
woman  who  loves  you!" 

Raimbaut  left  his  over-lord  huddled  in  his  chair, 
gazing  sadly  into  the  red  embers. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE    BOOK    OF    HOURS 

THE  week  that  followed  Raimbaut's  investment 
with  the  title  of  squire  was  a  most  unhappy  one. 
The  Count  was  confined  to  his  room,  and  the  boy 
was  forced  to  adjust  himself  to  his  surroundings  as 
best  he  could.  In  spite  of  his  association  with 
Anselme  and  Bernart,  his  manners  were  in  many 
respects  those  of  a  village  lad,  and  at  first  he  was  a 
constant  source  of  amusement  to  the  other  squires. 
Taking  their  cue  from  Guilhem,  who  was  their 
leader  in  all  things,  they  proceeded  to  make  Raim- 
baut  uncomfortable  by  an  endless  list  of  petty 
annoyances. 

One  night  he  found  a  pair  of  rusty  spurs  in  his 
bed,  and  the  next,  discovered  a  colony  of  squirming 
eels,  freshly  captured  from  the  brook.  He  was 
dropped  into  a  cistern  by  a  treacherous  plank,  and 
escaped  drenched  and  half -drowned.  He  was  sent 
on  foolish  messages  of  imaginary  persons.  In  short 
his  vow  of  charity  toward  all  was  thoroughly 
tested. 

He  endured  his  trials  so  good-naturedly,  accept- 
ing them  as  the  novitiate  of  a  new-comer,  that  his 
companions  soon  agreed  the  Severed  Mantle  was 
not  a  subject  for  mockery.  So  full  of  kindness  was 
the  lad  from  Vacqueiras,  that  first  one  and  then 

52 


THE  BOOK  OF  HOURS 

another  yielded  to  the  charm  of  his  friendliness,  and 
by  the  end  of  the  week  he  could  count  his  ill-wishers 
on  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  They  were  Guilhem,  the 
Countess  Tyburge,  Berguedan,  Miguel,  his  squire 
and,  last  though  not  least,  Touche  the  wolf-hound. 
He  was  a  little  doubtful  concerning  the  Countess 
Tyburge,  but  in  spite  of  her  apparent  graciousness, 
she  was  always  watching  him  out  of  the  corners  of 
her  eyes,  and  whispering  with  Berguedan  in  some 
window-seat. 

Raimbaut  did  not  allow  himself  to  believe  that 
Guilhem  would  not  return  his  friendship;  yet  if 
there  was  any  truth  in  the  old  saying,  "  Like  dog, 
like  master,"  no  better  proof  of  Guilhem's  enmity 
was  needed  than  the  attitude  of  Touche;  for,  how- 
ever Guilhem  might  keep  up  a  semblance  of  cor- 
diality, his  dog  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  her 
hatred. 

Raimbaut  measured  Berguedan  by  much  the 
same  standard  as  that  by  which  he  judged  Guilhem. 
The  Spaniard  was  always  soft-spoken,  bland,  and 
smiling,  but  Miguel  was  not  a  hypocrite,  and 
neglected  no  opportunity  to  show  his  hostility. 
This  Miguel  was  a  swarthy  youth  from  the  moun- 
tains of  Tarragona.  A  little  older  than  the  other 
squires,  he  was  a  full  head  taller,  and  bade  fair 
to  become  a  giant  in  strength  and  stature.  It 
was  he  who  pulled  the  plank  from  under  Raim- 
baut's  feet.  In  fact  he  perpetually  worried  the 
new-comer. 

53 


One  day,  when  the  squires  were  having  a  foot- 
race, Miguel  dropped  a  lance  in  front  of  Raimbaut's 
flying  feet,  sending  the  latter  full  length  on  the 
ground.  He  rose,  bruised  but  smiling,  and  taking 
the  lance  in  his  hand,  he  walked  up  to  Miguel  and 
said,  — 

"  Messire  Miguel  of  Tarragona,  as  you  know,  I 
have  sworn  to  live  like  Saint  Martin  in  charity  with 
all  the  world,  yet  I  must  warn  you  that  if  you  ever 
meddle  with  me  again,  I  shall  forget  my  vow  just 
long  enough  to  break  this  lance  over  your  head. 
I  shall  do  this  without  anger  or  malice,  to  teach 
you  the  manners  you  have  not  learned  in  Spain." 

He  faced  Miguel,  clear-eyed  and  alert,  without  the 
least  sign  of  fear,  and  there  was  a  shout  of  approval 
from  the  squires  who  looked  at  him  with  wonder. 
The  Spaniard  was  furious,  but  as  the  seneschal  was 
just  then  passing,  Miguel  was  obliged  to  swallow 
the  rebuff  with  such  good  grace  as  he  could  com- 
mand. By  this  act  Raimbaut  established  a  repu- 
tation for  courage  which  his  kindliness  had  left  in 
doubt. 

In  all  these  persecutions  Guilhem  took  no  open 
part.  Hungry  for  friendship,  in  spite  of  his  dis- 
trust, Raimbaut's  heart  went  out  to  the  plausible 
young  Count,  and  they  were  much  together. 
Raimbaut  even  tried  to  make  friends  with  Touche, 
but  the  wolf-hound  would  accept  no  overtures  and 
watched  him  like  an  evil  spirit,  threatening  and 
sinister.  His  great  comfort  was  Loba,  who  gave 

54 


THE  BOOK  OF  HOURS 

him  many  a  smile  and  an  occasional  caress,  when 
Jourdain  of  Cabaret  was  not  too  close  to  her  elbow. 

While  Raimbaut's  favor  was  hanging  in  the 
balance,  he  was  asked  to  sing  one  evening  after 
supper.  With  his  first  note  he  won  his  audience, 
and  when  he  had  finished,  there  was  a  storm  of 
applause.  Again  and  again  he  sang  for  them, 
chansons,  sirventes,  tensos;  aubados  gave  place  to 
serenades,  and  he  ended  with  a  peasant  song,  full 
of  the  atmosphere  of  the  vineyard  and  the  olive 
grove,  which  caught  the  fancy  of  the  varlets  and 
men-at-arms,  gathered  in  the  far  end  of  the  hall. 

There  had  been  several  days  of  calm,  and  Raim- 
baut  was  beginning  to  think  that  he  had  served  his 
novitiate  and  was  to  be  left  in  peace.  It  was  late 
in  the  afternoon.  He  had  completed  his  duties  in 
the  tilt-yard,  and  was  sitting  cross-legged  in  the 
library  with  a  huge  volume  on  his  knees.  It  was  the 
story  of  Godefroi  of  Bouillon,  and  Raimbaut  had 
followed  the  life  of  the  crusader  from  his  boyhood 
in  Lorraine  to  his  burial  on  Calvary.  He  read  with 
beating  heart  that,  although  Godefroi  was  not  tall 
nor  broad,  he  could  with  one  blow  of  his  sword 
cleave  a  horseman  from  head  to  saddle.  His  soul 
was  thrilled  at  the  discovery  of  the  holy  lance  which 
had  pierced  the  side  of  Christ  on  the  Cross,  and  by 
whose  miraculous  assistance  Godefroi  with  only 
twenty  thousand  men  captured  Jerusalem.  His 
admiration  knew  no  bounds  at  the  hero's  refusal  of 
the  royal  crown,  on  the  spot  where  the  Saviour  had 

55 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

been  crowned  with  thorns.  Again  and  again  he 
read  over  the  words  that  impressed  him  most:  "  He 
would  fight  the  infidel,  rather  than  possess  pure 
gold  and  silver  money,  rather  than  amuse  himself 
hunting  or  in  flying  the  hawks." 

Raimbaut  was  picturing  himself,  after  a  furious 
slaughter  of  the  infidels,  placing  with  his  own 
hand  the  banner  of  the  Cross  on  the  walls  of  Jeru- 
salem, when  his  dreams  were  shattered  by  the 
entrance  of  the  Count.  The  latter  was  pale  and 
weak  after  his  illness,  and  Raimbaut  noticed 
that  the  hand  trembled  which  was  placed  on  his 
shoulder. 

"Are  you  fond  of  reading?"  asked  the  Count. 

"Indeed  I  am,"  replied  Raimbaut.  "I  like  it 
better  than  anything  except  singing,  though  a  day 
in  the  fields  with  a  good  falcon  gives  me  almost  equal 
pleasure." 

"  If  you  will  come  with  me,"  said  the  Count,  "  I 
will  show  you  some  manuscripts  more  beautiful 
than  any  you  can  find  here.  I  keep  them  in  a 
chest  in  my  own  room,  for  they  are  the  most  pre- 
cious things  that  I  possess." 

"  Right  pleased  shall  I  be  to  see  them,"  answered 
Raimbaut  eagerly;  and  putting  the  volume  back 
in  its  place,  he  followed  the  Count  to  his  room. 

It  was  almost  exactly  as  Raimbaut  had  left  it 
the  week  before;  the  fire  still  flamed  on  the  hearth 
and  the  heat  was  like  a  furnace.  The  Count  went 
to  a  far  corner,  where  stood  a  chest  bound  with  iron 

56 


THE  BOOK  OF  HOURS 

and  chained  to  the  floor  with  a  ring.  He  took  a 
key  from  his  girdle,  unlocked  the  box  and  lifted  the 
lid.  It  was  evidently  the  treasure-chest  of  the 
castle.  On  one  side  there  were  rich  garments,  gir- 
dles heavy  with  gold  and  precious  stones,  jewelled 
daggers,  and  leathern  bags  through  which  could  be 
seen  the  bulging  coin. 

In  a  small  coffer  were  three  books,  each  wrapped 
by  itself  in  a  piece  of  Genoese  velvet.  The  first 
was  a  Virgil,  the  work  of  a  Florentine  scribe  in  the 
fourth  century.  It  was  bound  in  a  cover  of  thick 
oak  boards,  held  together  at  the  back  by  a  strip  of 
Cordovan  leather.  It  was  crowded  with  minia- 
tures showing  the  adventures  of  /Eneas.  Here  he 
carried  old  Priam  on  his  back  away  from  the  walls 
of  Troy,  surrounded  by  lurid  flames.  Here  was 
the  boat-race,  with  the  oarsmen  laboring  strenu- 
ously, and  the  prows  of  the  ships  churning  the  blue 
water  into  foam.  Most  wonderful  of  all  was  a  pic- 
ture of  the  gods  on  Mount  Olympus,  seated  among 
the  clouds,  eating  ambrosia,  and  drinking  nectar 
from  gold  cups. 

The  second  volume  was  a  Temptation  of  St. 
Anthony.  It  was  of  much  more  recent  date,  bound 
in  pigskin  and  fastened  with  iron  clasps.  The 
miniatures  were  commonplace,  but  the  fancy  of  the 
artist  had  run  riot  in  grotesque  initial  letters  and 
in  borders  of  arabesque,  which  indicated  the  influ- 
ence of  Saracenic  art. 

The  Count  showed  these  two  manuscripts  hastily, 

57 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

and  Raimbaut  was  disappointed,  for  he  caught  only 
glimpses  of  their  beauties.  He  would  have  liked 
to  beg  his  master  to  allow  him  to  study  the  volumes 
at  his  leisure,  but  he  did  not  dare  to  do  so. 

When  the  Count  came  to  the  third  book,  he  laid 
the  others  in  the  chest,  and,  leading  the  way  to  the 
window,  bade  Raimbaut  take  a  seat  by  his  side. 
The  boy  wondered  at  the  trembling  hand  of  his 
master,  and  noticed  his  laboring  breath  and  flushed 
face.  He  was  apparently  under  the  influence  of 
some  strong  emotion,  for  he  hesitated  a  full  minute 
before  he  began  to  speak,  and  then  his  voice  was 
low  and  husky. 

"It  is  to  see  this  Book  of  Hours,"  said  the  Count, 
"that  I  brought  you  to  my  room.  I  prize  it  above 
everything  I  possess.  It  was  given  me  by  the 
Countess  of  Dia,  and  every  letter  on  the  parchment 
was  penned  by  her  white  hand.  I  have  seen  many 
precious  missals  guarded  jealously  in  church  and 
cloister,  but  none  can  show  lettering  like  this. 
Many  a  patient  monk  has  wrought  with  skilful 
hands,  but  none  has  been  able  to  equal  this  little 
manuscript." 

The  book  was  bound  in  crimson  leather  from 
Arabia,  the  like  of  which  Raimbaut  had  never  seen 
before.  The  clasps  and  bosses  were  of  silver,  and 
the  corners  were  guarded  by  the  same  pure  metal. 
In  the  centre  of  the  initial  cover  there  was  a  plaque 
of  ivory,  carved  in  relief,  showing  Saint  Martin 
sharing  his  mantle  with  the  beggar. 

58 


THE  BOOK  OF  HOURS 

The  Count  opened  the  book  with  a  strange  ex- 
pression of  reverence  on  his  fat  face.  The  first 
page  had  almost  no  ornamentation. 

"  Do  you  notice,"  asked  the  Count,  "  how  per- 
fectly each  letter  is  formed,  and  yet  so  great  is  its 
beauty  that  there  is  nothing  set  or  formal  when 
they  are  grouped  together?" 

"That  I  do,"  replied  Raimbaut;  "I  have  tried  to 
work  with  the  pen  under  the  guidance  of  the  good 
priest  Anselme.  My  fingers  are  very  stubborn,  but 
I  have  learned  enough  to  admire  the  skill  of  others 
and  the  beauty  of  this  work.  How  smoothly  the 
Countess  has  laid  on  the  burnished  gold!  It  is 
the  pure  metal,  and  Anselme  tells  me  it  will  show 
just  as  bright  a  thousand  years  from  now." 

The  Count  next  turned  to  a  page  with  an  illumi- 
nated border.  The  initial  letter  "A"  was  made  of 
two  dragons,  their  claws  joined  together  to  form 
the  bar,  and  from  them  sprang  a  vine,  twining  and 
twisting  until  it  covered  all  the  page,  save  that 
occupied  by  the  words  themselves.  From  the 
main  pattern  there  grew  the  slender  stems  to  which 
were  fastened  the  green  leaves,  the  bright  acanthus 
blossoms  and  the  graceful  tendrils. 

"Is  it  not  wonderful!"  cried  Raimbaut.  "I  have 
seen  something  like  it  in  the  springtime,  when  the 
vines  were  creeping  in  and  out  among  the  branches 
of  the  hawthorn  hedge." 

"Indeed,"  replied  the  Count,  "there  is  no  better 
model  in  nature  for  the  illuminator  than  the  coun- 

59 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

try  hedgerow.  Do  you  notice  how  every  page  is  a 
piece  of  parchment  without  a  flaw,  how  pure  and 
clear  is  the  blue,  and  how  brilliant  are  the  rubrics?" 

For  a  long  time  Raimbaut  sat  by  the  Count's 
side,  the  latter  slowly  and  lingeringly  turning  page 
after  page.  When  he  spoke  again,  it  was  with  a 
voice  indicating  the  deepest  feeling. 

"  I  must  tell  you,  before  I  show  the  miniatures  in 
this  book,  that  when  the  Countess  of  Dia  gave  it 
me,  she  left  between  the  covers  six  blank  pages.  I 
had  some  skill  with  brush  and  pen.  Indeed,  there 
are  those  who  say  my  work  is  equal  to  that  of  the 
famous  old  monk  of  Saint  Martial  at  Limoges.  I 
promised  that  I  would  decorate  these  pages  with  my 
own  hand ;  but  I  am  ashamed  to  tell  you  that  many 
years  passed  before  I  made  any  attempt  to  fulfil 
my  promise.  Yet  my  vow  grew  heavy  upon  me, 
and  at  last  I  decided  to  do  my  best.  As  you  will 
see,"  explained  the  Count,  "  this  last  page  is  still 
blank,  except  where  I  have  lightly  traced  upon  it 
the  outlines  of  the  grave,  the  recumbent  body,  the 
chapel  and  two  chanting  priests.  This,"  contin- 
ued the  Count,  turning  back  a  few  leaves,  "  shows 
David  praying  with  a  harp  by  his  side.  The  dis- 
tant landscape  is  finished,  the  blue  sky,  the  golden 
cherubs  and  the  flying  angel.  I  confess  I  am  a 
little  proud  of  David's  gray  beard  and  of  the  ermine 
cape,  over  which  I  labored  very  long  and  earnestly. 
The  margin  I  have  not  yet  touched.  The  next 
shows  the  border  complete,  with  the  exception  of 

60 


THE  BOOK  OF  HOURS 

the  leaves  and  flowers.  The  miniature  also,  is 
nearly  finished.  Joseph  is  good,  but  the  ass  looks 
more  like  a  destrier.  When  I  began  to  paint  it,  I 
had  no  model ;  and  when  I  obtained  one,  I  had  gone 
too  far  to  change." 

The  Count  then  turned  to  a  miniature  of  the 
shepherds  on  the  hillside.  Some  were  lying  asleep 
with  their  white  flocks  around  them,  but  one  was 
lifting  his  eyes  to  heaven  in  an  attitude  of  adoration 
before  the  chanting  angels. 

The  next  was  the  Annunciation.  Here  the  minia- 
ture was  complete  and  the  border  also.  Naught 
remained  to  be  done  but  the  burnishing  of  the  gold. 

"Is  it  not  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Raimbaut. 
"  What  a  wonderful  angel  it  is,  with  the  yellow 
robe  and  the  folded  wings!  See  the  purple  canopy 
against  which  the  Blessed  Mother's  halo  shows  so 
brilliantly;  and  there  is  God  in  the  blue  heavens, 
with  the  gold  stars  around  Him!  It  is  the  best 
miniature  of  them  all.  I  am  sure  there  is  nothing 
better  in  the  whole  world." 

The  Count  smiled. 

"  I  have  not  yet  shown  you  the  miniature  which 
far  surpasses  everything  else  that  I  have  done. 
I  must  tell  you  that  I  come  to  this  with  emotions 
so  conflicting  that  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  speak. 
As  an  artist  I  look  upon  it  with  pride,  but  as  a  man 
it  brings  to  me  shame  and  sorrow.  There  are  few 
who  can  review  their  past  lives  without  regret,  but 
I  have  been  a  sinner  beyond  compare.  Listening 

61 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

one  day  to  the  Bishop  of  Avignon,  I  was  greatly 
impressed  by  these  words:  'And  now  abideth  Faith, 
Hope,  and  Love,  these  three;  but  the  noblest  of 
these  is  Love. '  It  occurred  to  me  that  I  could  paint 
on  this  first  page  of  the  breviary  a  miniature  that 
should  illustrate  these  words  of  Saint  Paul ;  and  I 
hope  I  was  guilty  of  no  sacrilege  when  I  chose  for 
the  emblematical  figures  the  three  women  who 
have  most  strongly  influenced  my  life." 

Raimbaut  was  filled  with  amazement  as  he 
listened.  Why  should  the  Count  speak  to  him  of 
things  so  intimate?  He  watched  the  thick  white 
fingers  as  they  turned  the  leaves;  but  when  the  first 
page  was  revealed  to  him,  the  boy  held  his  breath 
with  admiration.  In  the  centre  were  the  gray  walls 
of  a  chantry,  each  stone  in  its  place,  pillar  and  arch 
and  niche.  Through  one  window  there  streamed 
the  yellow  light,  and  through  another  could  be  seen 
the  towers  of  a  distant  city.  Around  the  chantry 
twined  graceful  vines  and  tendrils,  with  their  fruit- 
age of  leaf  and  bud  and  blossom.  The  colors  were 
as  beautiful  as  an  April  rainbow,  and  the  flecks  of 
burnished  gold  were  like  scattered  sunbeams.  So 
possessed  was  the  boy  by  the  lovely  picture  that  he 
could  not  speak,  and  he  listened  breathless  as  the 
Count  went  on. 

"This  figure  in  the  robe  of  old  rose  is  the  Countess 
Ermengarda  of  Narbonne.  Though  I  cannot  say 
that  I  loved  her  over-much,  she  was  devoted  to  me 
with  her  whole  soul.  Although  not  strictly  beauti- 

62 


THE   BOOK  OF  HOURS 

ful,  she  was  warmhearted  and  impetuous,  and  with 
her  I  had  my  first  dream  of  love.  I  confess  I  tired 
of  her,  and  many  little  affairs  had  I  until,  wander- 
ing far  afield,  I  came  to  northern  Italy.  Here  I  met 
a  young  demoiselle,  and  for  her  I  was  possessed  by 
a  desire  which  wholly  mastered  me.  I  had  been 
used  to  easy  conquests;  here  I  found  myself  held  at 
bay.  In  spite  of  her  pure  face,  I  knew  it  was  not 
for  lack  of  passion,  and  I  persisted,  half-maddened 
by  disappointment.  At  last  I  discovered  that  she 
was  in  love  with  a  young  knight,  her  neighbor,  who 
could  not  sing  a  note  or  speak  without  stammering, 
so  great  his  diffidence.  I  lingered  until  the  very 
day  of  her  marriage,  and  then  fled  back  to  Provence. 
She  was  the  only  woman  over  whom  I  could  not  in 
the  least  prevail,  and  a  foolish  resentment  soon 
drove  her  from  my  heart.  You  can  see  her  stand- 
ing in  the  high  niche  as  Saint  Love.  She  is  clad  in 
pure  white,  and  her  eyes  are  downcast.  So  she 
would  often  keep  them  veiled  under  her  long  lashes, 
in  spite  of  their  wondrous  beauty.  She  is  dead :  she 
was  much  too  good  for  me,  and  is  doubtless  now  a 
saint  in  Heaven. 

"This  third  figure  in  the  blue  robe  is  the  Countess 
of  Dia.  As  Saint  Hope  she  stands  looking  heaven- 
ward, in  her  hand  a  lute.  She  of  all  women  loved 
me  most  devotedly,  and  I,  confident  of  her  devo- 
tion, did  not  value  it  until  too  late.  It  is  she  who 
to-day  has  full  possession  of  my  heart,  though  she 
long  since  ceased  to  love  me.  It  was  to  me  she 

63 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

wrote  that  song  of  surpassing  loveliness  in  which  she 
abandoned  herself  completely  to  her  pure  passion, 
repeating  again  and  again,  'O  God!  Why  comes 
the  dawn  so  soon!" 

As  the  Count  spoke,  tears  rolled  down  his  face, 
and  for  a  little  while  he  forgot  Raimbaut's  presence 
in  the  bitter  memories  of  the  past. 

Raimbaut  was  full  of  sympathy  for  his  master, 
pitying  the  loneliness  which  possessed  him;  but  more 
than  all  else  his  heart  was  heavy  with  questions 
which  he  dared  not  ask. 

When  the  Count  broke  the  silence,  he  answered 
almost  as  if  he  had  been  reading  the  boy's  thoughts. 

"  My  lad,  I  cannot  explain  why  I  have  told 
you  so  much,  yet  can  tell  no  more.  The  good 
priest  Anselme  has  been  called  back  to  his  old  home 
in  northern  France,  and  will  return  within  the 
month.  I  will  bring  him  here  and  try  to  right  the 
wrongs  of  which  I  was  guilty  long  ago.  I  have 
lately  had  many  attacks  of  illness  which  are 
strange  and  terrifying,  and  greatly  sap  my  strength. 
No  one  can  find  any  clue  to  the  source  of  my 
trouble,  though  Berguedan  is  giving  me  a  medicine 
of  which  I  have  great  hopes.  It  is  in  the  fear  that 
Death  may  take  me  unexpectedly,  that  I  have 
brought  you  here  to-day." 

He  closed  the  Book  of  Hours,  and,  touching  a 
hidden  spring,  the  ivory  placque  lifted.  Behind  it 
there  was  plainly  evident  a  folded  piece  of  parch- 
ment showing  the  red  seal  of  the  Count.  He  closed 

64 


THE  BOOK  OF  HOURS 

the  orifice  and  taught  Raimbaut  how  it  could  be 
opened,  bidding  the  lad  press  the  spring  with  his 
own  finger. 

"I  give  you  this  book,"  said  the  Count,  "trust- 
ing in  your  promise  not  to  read  the  concealed 
parchment  until  you  have  won  your  golden  spurs. 
I  shall  reveal  all  as  soon  as  Anselme  returns.  I 
have  many  plans  for  you,  which  God  willing,  I  will 
carry  out.  Yet  would  I  guard  against  the  hand  of 
Death  which  I  sometimes  fear  hangs  over  me.  I 
believe  I  can  trust  your  oath  if  you  will  swear  by 
Saint  Martin,  your  patron,  to  keep  the  secret  invio- 
late until  you  are  a  knight  indeed.  Do  you  promise 
me?" 

"I  swear  by  Saint  Martin,"  replied  Raimbaut 
as  he  took  the  Book  in  his  hand.  "Is  it  my  very 
own?" 

"It  is  your  own,"  answered  the  Count,  "and  you 
are  to  keep  it  securely  hidden." 

"I  will,"  said  Raimbaut.  "I  have  a  secret 
pocket  in  my  tunic  which  Michonne  made,  and  in 
which  I  have  a  precious  clue  to  the  assailant  of  my 
poor  father.  In  this  pocket  I  will  put  the  Book. 
I  will  prize  it  as  my  life." 

He  opened  the  volume  and  looked  at  the  minia- 
ture for  a  long  time,  his  eyes  beaming  with  joy  and 
admiration.  The  Count  watched  him  critically  and 
at  last  inquired,  — 

"Which  do  you  think  is  the  most  beautiful  of  the 
three?" 

65 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

"Saint  Love,"  replied  Raimbaut. 

"Saint  Love,  say  you?"  asked  the  Count,  in  a 
tone  of  surprise.  "Do  you  think  she  is  as  charm- 
ing as  Saint  Hope,  with  the  dark  hair  and  blue  eyes 
which  she  lifts  to  Heaven?" 

"She  is  indeed  fair,  but  Saint  Love  is  beautiful 
beyond  compare.  In  my  quest  for  the  Perfect  Love, 
if  I  find  such  a  woman  on  the  earth,  to  her  I  will 
give  the  whole  adoration  of  my  heart." 

"May  you  find  the  Perfect  Love!"  declared  the 
Count,  smilingly.  "May  you  never  be  untrue  to 
the  woman  who  loves  you!" 

For  a  little  longer  the  lad  and  the  man  of  the 
world  looked  together  at  the  splendid  miniature, 
and  then  the  Count,  pleading  fatigue,  sent  Raim- 
baut away.  The  latter  placed  the  Book  of  Hours 
carefully  in  his  secret  pocket  and  took  his  departure, 
wondering  at  his  good  fortune. 


CHAPTER  VI 

GENTLE   TOUCHE 

WHEN  Raimbaut  reached  his  room,  he  studied 
each  page  to  the  very  end,  and  then,  turning  back 
leaf  after  leaf,  gazed  reverently  upon  the  miniature 
of  the  three  fair  women.  His  soul  was  filled  with 
admiration  for  Saint  Faith;  Saint  Hope  appealed 
with  strange  insistence  to  his  heart;  but  when  he 
looked  upon  white-robed  Saint  Love,  lifted  above 
the  others  in  her  high  niche,  there  came  to  him  a 
flood  of  rapture  and  devotion.  Always  keenly  sus- 
ceptible to  the  beautiful,  the  Saint  Love  in  the 
chantry  seemed  to  him  the  embodiment  of  his  life's 
ideal,  half-saint,  half-woman.  He  fell  upon  his 
knees  as  if  he  knelt  before  the  Cross  itself. 

"God  is  Love, "  said  he  under  his  breath;  and  then, 
"  if  God  is  Love,  Love  must  be  God!" 

When  he  rose  to  his  feet,  it  was  with  a  singu- 
larly uplifted  feeling.  He  took  the  piece  of  parch- 
ment from  his  pocket,  placed  the  little  tuft  of  red 
roan  hair  between  two  blank  leaves  at  the  end  of 
the  book,  and  carefully  folded  it  inside  the  piece  of 
vellum. 

During  the  week  that  followed,  he  read  the  brevi- 
ary faithfully  at  night  and  morning,  and  often  looked 
at  the  miniature  in  the  quiet  of  his  room.  Yet  in 

67 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

spite  of  the  joy  that  the  Book  of  Hours  gave  him, 
Raimbaut  was  conscious  of  a  sensation  of  oppres- 
sion. There  seemed  to  be  a  dark  shadow  brood- 
ing over  the  castle,  a  vague  terror  in  the  air,  which 
he  felt  but  could  not  understand.  He  wondered 
how  the  other  squires  could  be  so  light-hearted,  and 
he  looked  in  vain  about  him  to  find  any  one  upon 
whose  face  there  was  the  least  sign  of  the  fear  that 
possessed  him. 

The  Count  was  confined  to  his  room.  No  one 
knew  exactly  what  his  illness  was,  but  the  seneschal 
was  very  grave  and  it  was  rumored  that  his  master's 
condition  was  causing  him  great  solicitude. 

On  the  pale  features  of  the  Countess  Tyburge  only, 
there  was  an  expression  of  anxiety,  and  now  and  then 
Raimbaut  caught  a  look  of  apprehension  in  her  eyes. 

Berguedan  seemed  most  unconcerned  of  all,  but 
more  than  once  Raimbaut  saw  his  face  grow  stern 
and  sinister  as  he  whispered  with  the  Countess  in  the 
shadow  of  the  arras. 

Still  the  life  of  the  castle  passed  on  much  as  before. 
In  the  morning  there  were  gay  parties  riding  out 
over  the  fields  with  the  falcons,  and  in  the  afternoon 
there  were  songs  and  stories  in  the  Garden  of  Love. 
The  illness  of  the  Count  seemed  to  affect  the  happi- 
ness of  his  guests  not  at  all.  The  flow  of  their  con- 
versation was  as  unaffected  as  the  current  of  the 
brook,  and  the  sound  of  their  laughter  as  unrestrained 
as  the  ripple  of  the  fountain,  although  their  host  was 
suffering  and  perhaps  near  to  death. 

68 


GENTLE  TOUCHE 

The  shadows  were  lengthening  one  afternoon  when 
Raimbaut,  in  spite  of  Loba's  smiles,  left  the  gay 
party  in  the  garden  and  sought  the  quiet  of  the 
library.  He  perched  himself  on  a  high  fauteuil  by 
the  window,  and  tried  to  dispel  his  forebodings  in  the 
study  of  a  wonderful  bestiary  which  he  had  found  in 
one  of  the  chests.  The  pages  were  covered  with 
figures  of  creatures  such  as  were  never  seen  under  the 
blue  skies  of  Provence,  and  the  stories  of  strange 
beasts  filled  the  boy  with  wonder.  He  was  spell- 
bound as  he  read :  — 

"  The  asp  is  the  serpent  that  guards  the  balsam. 
When  a  man  wishes  to  gather  it,  he  puts  the  asp  to 
sleep  with  the  music  of  instruments,  and  then  secures 
the  balsam.  When  the  asp  sees  how  it  has  been 
tricked,  it  stops  one  ear  with  its  tail  and  rubs  the  other 
ear  on  the  ground  until  it  is  filled  with  earth ;  then  it 
cannot  hear  the  music,  and  it  is  able  to  keep  a  safe 
watch." 

Raimbaut  was  here  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
the  chaplain.  The  boy  had  met  him  again  and  again, 
and  a  strong  friendship  was  springing  up  between 
them.  It  was  therefore  with  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise and  solicitude  that  Raimbaut  sprang  to  his  feet, 
for  the  color  had  left  the  little  man's  round  cheeks 
and  his  face  was  drawn  and  haggard. 

"  Tell  me,  good  father,  what  is  the  matter?"  asked 
Raimbaut. 

"I  cannot!"  replied  the  priest  with  a  shudder. 
"  Indeed  I  must  speak  to  the  Countess  Tyburge  on 

69 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

the  instant;"  and  in  spite  of  Raimbaut's  detaining 
hand,  he  hurried  away. 

For  a  long  time  Raimbaut  paced  up  and  down  the 
room,  possessed  with  a  presentiment  of  evil  he  tried 
in  vain  to  analyze.  He  had,  however,  taken  his  seat 
again  with  the  bestiary  on  his  knees  when  Guilhem 
suddenly  appeared  at  the  doorway.  He  crossed  the 
room,  and,  looking  over  Raimbaut's  shoulder,  ex- 
claimed, - 

"Oho!  This  is  the  way  you  busy  yourself  when 
you  should  be  helping  with  the  armor !  Are  you  fond 
of  pictures  of  wild  beasts?" 

"Verily  I  am,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "although  I  like 
tales  like  that  of  Godefroi  of  Bouillon  better  still." 

"Well,"  said  Guilhem,  "if  you  wish  to  see  pictures 
of  strange  creatures  which  make  these  in  the  book 
look  like  tame  cattle  in  the  pasture,  come  with  me. 
I  will  show  you  the  old  tapestries  in  the  East 
Tower." 

Raimbaut  knew  the  story  of  the  famous  tapestries 
wrought  by  the  old  Countess  Tyburge,  Guilhem' s 
sainted  grandmother,  who  in  her  old  age  became  aus- 
terely religious.  After  giving  large  revenues  to  the 
Church,  she  undertook  to  impress  those  around  her 
with  the  danger  of  sin,  by  making  some  tapestries 
which  should  illustrate  vividly  the  sufferings  of  the 
damned.  Her  last  sight  was  of  the  finished  fabric,  and 
her  last  thought  satisfaction  that  she  had  escaped  the 
dangers  upon  which  her  glazing  eyes  were  fixed.  After 
her  death  the  tapestries  were  hung  upon  the  wall  of 

70 


GENTLE  TOUCHE 

the  great  hall,  where  they  were  in  full  view  of  every 
gathering.  It  did  not  take  many  months,  however, 
to  discover  that  no  feast  could  be  truly  jovial  with 
these  portentous  pictures  visible,  so  they  were  rele- 
gated to  the  far  East  Tower,  where  the  masonry  was 
thick  and  the  sun  penetrated  but  for  a  moment  just 
before  setting.  So  gloomy  was  this  room  that  it 
was  seldom  entered,  and  here  the  tapestries  were  left 
to  the  teeth  of  Time  and  the  hungry  moth. 

It  was  a  favorite  recreation  of  Guilhem's  to  take 
a  youthful  page  or  squire  to  this  room.  He  had  no 
fancies,  and  he  obtained  an  extreme  amount  of 
satisfaction  in  watching  the  white  faces  of  those  more 
susceptible,  to  whom  the  tapestries  were  a  source  of 
horror. 

All  this  Raimbaut  knew  perfectly  well.  He 
realized  that  Guilhem's  invitation  was  not  a  friendly 
one,  yet  it  was  a  challenge  to  his  courage  which 
Raimbaut  could  not  decline.  So  he  cheerfully  as- 
sented, put  the  bestiary  back  into  the  chest,  and 
followed  Guilhem.  They  passed  along  the  corridor 
together,  down  the  winding  staircase,  and  through 
the  clanging  doors.  Suddenly  Raimbaut  discovered 
that  the  sullen  Touche  was  following  at  their  heels, 
silent  and  watchful;  yet  he  pretended  not  to  notice 
the  unwelcome  addition  to  the  party. 

Guilhem  was  kindness  itself.  One  hand  was  on 
Raimbaut's  shoulder,  and  with  the  other  he  pointed 
out  this  chamber  where  some  deed  of  blood  had  been 
committed,  and  that  passage  where  a  ghost  had 

71 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

walked.  When  they  came  at  last  to  a  door  at  the 
end  of  a  winding  gallery,  his  voice  had  sunk  to  a 
whisper,  and  Raimbaut's  nerves  were  like  harp- 
strings  through  which  a  wind  had  blown.  So  rusty 
were  the  hinges  that  it  required  their  united  efforts 
to  open  the  door,  and  its  creaking  echoed  through  the 
stillness. 

Unlike  Guilhem,  Raimbaut  was  susceptible  to 
every  horror.  His  cheek  paled  when  he  entered. 
Naked  men  and  women  consumed  in  lurid  flames, 
prodded  by  imps  and  devoured  by  terrible  monsters, 
covered  three  of  the  walls.  A  chill  wind  blew  through 
the  narrow  embrasure,  and,  fanning  the  folds,  gave 
a  lifelike  motion  to  every  figure.  No  sign  of  emotion 
was  lost  to  Guilhem,  who  slipped  his  hand  through 
Raimbaut's  arm  and  pointed  out  the  worst  terrors  in 
a  voice  that  was  almost  a  groan. 

They  were  standing  in  the  farther  corner  of  the 
room,  Raimbaut's  eyes  fixed  on  the  face  of  the  Evil 
One  himself,  who  looked  out  of  the  tapestry  with  a 
smile  of  satisfied  malignity.  To  Raimbaut  it  seemed 
as  if  the  fiend  was  about  to  speak,  when  Guilhem 
gave  him  a  sudden  push  which  sent  him  on  his  knees 
against  the  horrible  folds. 

For  a  moment  he  was  powerless  to  rise,  and  when 
he  gathered  himself  up  he  was  alone,  and  the  sound 
of  flying  footsteps  was  growing  faint  in  the  winding 
corridor.  Raimbaut  waited  until  the  echoes  died 
away;  then  he  sprang  forward  with  a  cry.  It  was 
smothered  in  an  instant,  however,  for  in  front  of  the 

72 


GENTLE  TOUCHE 

door  stood  Touche,  her  eyes  red  and  wary,  her 
yellow  teeth  bared,  and  the  hair  on  her  back  erect 
with  wrath. 

He  shrank  back  into  the  farther  corner,  leaning 
against  the  tapestry  which  he  no  longer  feared,  every 
instant  expecting  that  the  dog  would  spring  on  him, 
For  several  minutes  he  waited  with  protruding  eyes, 
scarce  breathing.  Then  he  began  to  realize  that 
Guilhem,  with  the  utmost  refinement  of  cruelty,  had 
planned  for  him  to  spend  the  night  in  this  awful  room 
with  Touche  for  his  jailor. 

The  great  beast,  finding  Raimbaut  quiet,  walked 
over  to  him,  showing  her  red  jowl,  and  seizing  his  tunic, 
worried  it  playfully.  Then  she  took  the  boy's  limp 
hand,  and  held  it  tightly  between  her  long  yellow 
teeth.  At  this  his  heart  almost  stopped  beating;  but 
still  he  stirred  not.  The  dog  circled  the  room  two  or 
three  times,  and  then,  giving  a  yawn,  stretched  her- 
self comfortably  before  the  threshold.  She  rested  her 
huge  muzzle  on  her  paws  and  watched  him  with 
blinking  and  suspicious  eyes. 

The  boy  stood  against  the  angle  of  the  wall,  his 
palms  pressing  the  dusty  cloth,  the  cold  perspira- 
tion on  his  forehead.  His  knees  were  weak  and  he 
could  not  restrain  their  trembling,  although  he 
dreaded  that  even  this  slight  motion  might  tempt 
Touche  to  spring.  His  muscles  stiffened,  and  with 
the  numbness  of  body  his  mind  awoke  and  he  began 
to  realize  his  danger  and  to  question  how  it  might  be 
met.  His  rigid  body  seemed  dead.  His  eyes  wan- 

73 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

dered  over  his  prison  and  he  saw  there  was  no  escape 
but  through  the  door.  He  measured  carefully  the 
height  of  the  window;  he  thought  he  might  reach  it 
by  a  sudden  spring,  but  the  dog  could  reach  it  too  and 
pull  him  down.  He  was  doomed  to  spend  the  night 
where  he  was,  in  danger  of  attack  at  any  moment, 
should  he  make  a  suspicious  movement. 

For  a  few  moments  his  mind  was  as  numb  as  his 
body,  and  then  there  came  to  him  a  hot  anger  against 
both  Guilhem  and  Touche  that  warmed  his  very 
marrow.  Rage  came  to  him  in  a  great  wave,  and  his 
hand  stealthily  sought  the  short  dagger  at  his  belt. 
It  was  only  a  toy  weapon,  made  more  for  ornament 
than  use.  A  chance  blow  might  find  its  way  to  a 
vital  part,  but  he  might  be  mangled  by  the  yellow 
teeth  whose  touch  would  fill  his  veins  with  madness. 
There  was  danger  even  in  killing  her,  lest  the  wicked 
spirit  which  had  dwelt  in  the  body  of  the  were-wolf 
might  enter  his  own  soul.  This  he  was  resolved  to 
risk.  His  enemies  must  not  triumph  over  him !  The 
malevolence  of  the  world,  which  was  personified  in  the 
wolf-hound,  must  not  prevail! 

His  mind  wandered  to  the  hall,  where  he  could 
picture  the  torches  throwing  their  red  light  on  every 
face.  He  could  see  Guilhem  laughing  mockingly,  and 
with  this  thought  there  came  the  fixed  determination 
to  escape  unscathed.  But  how?  How  could  he 
overcome  the  spirit  of  evil  that  threatened  him? 
His  left  hand  was  clutching  the  folds  of  the  tapestry 
where  the  pieces  had  once  joined,  and  through  his 

74 


HE   BALANCED   THE   CHANCES   OF   SUCCESS   AND   FAILURE 


GENTLE  TOUGHE 

finger  tips  there  came  the  first  hint  of  hope.  He 
thought  the  matter  over  as  carefully  as  if  his  body 
were  safe  in  the  little  castle  of  Vacqueiras  miles 
away,  and  something  of  Peirol's  readiness  and  cour- 
age seemed  to  spring  up  in  the  boy's  heart.  He 
balanced  the  chances  of  success  and  failure,  waited 
until  the  final  light  of  dusk  was  about  to  give  way  to 
complete  darkness,  then,  lifting  the  fold  of  cloth  with 
his  left  hand,  he  sprang  suddenly  behind  it.  With 
a  roar  the  hound  leaped  at  him,  and  her  huge  body 
struck  against  the  wall  close  by  his  feet  as,  with  one 
fierce  wrench,  he  pulled  the  musty  fabric  from  its 
support  and  fell  forward,  enveloping  the  struggling 
beast  in  the  heavy  folds. 

The  air  was  so  laden  with  dust  that  Raimbaut 
could  see  nothing,  but  he  clung  with  tooth  and  nail 
to  the  furiously  wriggling  body  of  the  hound,  whose 
struggles  seemed  only  to  entangle  her  the  more. 
She  was  quite  unable  to  use  her  eager  fangs.  Once 
only  she  freed  herself,  so  that  Raimbaut  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  bloodshot  eyes.  He  muffled  the  gaping 
jaws.  Throwing  his  weight  upon  the  frenzied  beast, 
he  held  her  with  both  arms  strained  around  her  neck. 
She  began  to  weaken.  Her  struggles  grew  less  vio- 
lent, and  Raimbaut  felt  it  was  safe  to  reach  for  his 
dagger.  Touche  seemed  to  understand  her  danger, 
however,  and  again  he  was  obliged  to  use  both  hands 
to  restrain  her  furious  efforts.  At  last  she  became 
quiet.  Raimbaut  snatched  the  weapon,  and  plunged 
it  again  and  again  through  the  tapestry  into  the 

75 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

quivering  body  beneath.  The  hound  made  one 
final,  desperate  contortion,  which  almost  freed  her 
from  the  folds  of  the  tapestry.  Then  a  thrust  from 
the  dagger  found  a  vital  spot.  The  huge  creature 
writhed  for  a  moment,  and  then  was  still. 

So  exhausted  was  Raimbaut,  that  for  several 
minutes  he  lay  motionless  as  the  dead  dog  beneath 
him.  When  his  strength  returned,  he  rose  to  his 
feet  and  threw  back  the  tapestry.  It  was  a  horrible 
sight!  The  dog's  eyes  were  protruding,  her  mouth 
open  in  an  angry  snarl,  and  her  chops  were  thrown 
back,  revealing  the  discolored  teeth.  The  body 
itself  had  stiffened.  The  hind  legs  were  extended 
at  full  length  in  agony,  and  there  were  a  dozen  wounds 
from  which  the  blood  trickled.  Most  of  them  were 
mere  scratches,  where  the  dagger  had  glanced  from 
hard  rib  or  tough  muscle;  but  there  were  two  or  three 
where  the  sharp  steel  had  found  its  way  to  a  vul- 
nerable place;  and  there  was  one,  the  last,  through 
which  the  thrust  had  reached  the  brute's  heart. 

Despite  his  extreme  exhaustion,  there  had  come  to 
Raimbaut  no  feeling  of  faintness,  no  repulsion,  no 
weakening.  His  anger  was  fiercer  than  ever.  For  a 
moment  he  stood,  his  hands  on  his  hips,  considering 
what  he  should  do.  Then  he  wiped  his  dagger  on 
the  tapestry  and  replaced  the  weapon  in  his  belt. 
He  stooped  over  the  carcass,  grasped  it  firmly  by  the 
loose  skin  of  the  neck,  and  dragged  it  to  the  door. 
This  he  opened  easily,  so  strong  was  he  in  his  rage. 
Again  he  took  up  his  burden  and  drew  it  into  the 

76 


GENTLE  TOUCHE 

corridor.  Down  the  long  passage  he  staggered,  until 
he  came  to  a  narrow  staircase.  It  was  a  hard 
struggle,  but  he  reached  the  top  at  last.  He  opened 
the  door  of  Guilhem's  apartment  and  dragged  the 
body  in.  He  threw  it  on  the  bed,  shut  the  door 
behind  him,  and  then  stopped  to  consider. 

He  had  known  all  the  time  that  he  must  make  his 
escape  from  Courthezon.  The  little  castle  of  Vac- 
queiras  was  calling  to  him;  he  felt  he  must  see  his 
father  again.  The  kindness  of  the  Count  and  the 
promised  revelation  were  alike  forgotten.  He  hated 
all  Courthezon !  Suddenly  he  remembered  his  sword. 
This  alone  he  resolved  to  carry  with  him.  He  crept 
to  his  own  room  and  took  the  weapon  from  the  wall 
where  it  hung  by  the  side  of  his  gaudy  mantle.  At 
sight  of  the  garment  a  fancy  seized  him  to  be  identi- 
fied unmistakably  with  the  death  of  the  hound.  He 
slung  the  baldric  over  his  neck,  took  the  mantle  in 
his  hand,  and  crept  back  to  Guilhem's  room.  He 
propped  the  body  of  the  dog  with  pillows  so  that  it 
sat  upright  in  the  bed,  and  placed  the  mantle  around 
the  bloody  shoulders.  It  was  a  gruesome  picture, 
but  Raimbaut  laughed  silently  as  he  gave  a  last  look 
from  the  doorway.  Yes,  Messire  Guilhem  also 
must  have  a  shock  to  test  his  nerves! 

Raimbaut  stole  down  the  staircase  into  the  court- 
yard, which  was  well-nigh  deserted.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  leave  by  any  gate.  He  remembered  that  there 
were,  in  the  far  corner,  some  old  scaling-ladders 
which  would  answer  the  purpose  perfectly.  He  kept 

77 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

in  the  shadow  as  much  as  possible,  fortunately  meet- 
ing no  one,  for  his  hands  were  stained  with  blood, 
and  there  was  a  red  smear  on  his  forehead.  Skirting 
the  parapet,  he  found  the  ladders,  selected  the  light- 
est one,  carried  it  to  a  black  corner,  and  placed  it 
noiselessly  on  the  wall.  He  climbed  to  the  top,  drew 
the  ladder  after  him,  lowered  it  to  the  ground,  and 
was  free !  Hiding  the  ladder  in  some  bushes,  he  crept 
through  the  wet  grass  until  he  reached  the  road,  and 
then  set  out  for  Vacqueiras  as  fast  as  his  legs  could 
carry  him.  He  ran  until  he  was  out  of  breath,  then 
threw  himself  under  the  hedge.  When  his  strength 
came  back,  he  rose  and  continued  his  journey  at  a 
more  leisurely  pace. 

.  The  wind  had  now  gone  down,  the  rain  had  ceased, 
and  the  stars  were  shining  in  a  cloudless  sky.  The 
quiet  of  the  night  calmed  the  fever  in  his  blood,  and 
by  the  time  he  reached  Vacqueiras,  there  had  come 
to  him  a  reaction  from  his  rage.  He  could  see  the 
dim  figure  of  the  sentinel  over  the  gate,  but  feared  to 
disturb  the  whole  village  by  his  late  entry.  So  he 
climbed  the  hillside,  and  selecting  a  soft  bit  of  green 
turf  close  to  the  brook,  he  crept  under  the  shelter  of 
a  hawthorn  bush  and  fell  asleep,  with  the  ripple  of 
the  water  in  his  ears. 


CHAPTER  VII 

BENIZET   THE   GOATHERD 

THE  sky  grew  bright  and  the  hills  red  with  the 
dawn.  Raimbaut  would  have  slept  longer,  had  he 
not  rolled  on  to  a  thorn  branch,  which  dispelled  his 
drowsiness  most  effectually.  As  he  sat  up  and  rue- 
fully rubbed  his  smarting  shoulder,  he  heard  a  great 
splashing  of  water  in  the  bed  of  the  brook  beneath 
him.  Parting  the  branches,  he  crept  to  the  edge 
of  the  bank,  and  looking  down,  saw  Benizet's  shock 
of  red  hair  almost  within  touch. 

The  goatherd  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  stream, 
girt  to  the  thighs,  with  the  water  rushing  against  his 
sinewy  legs.  He  was  bending  over  a  miniature 
bridge  of  seven  arches,  built  with  stones  from  the 
hillside.  He  examined  each  span  in  turn,  then 
climbed  upon  the  bridge,  and,  leaping  into  the  air, 
came  down  with  all  his  weight  on  the  centre  arch, 
underneath  which  the  water  was  deepest  and  the 
current  strongest. 

Raimbaut,  convulsed  with  wonder  and  repressed 
laughter,  expected  to  see  the  tall  goatherd  drop  into 
the  brook  amid  the  ruins.  But  the  bridge  gave  no 
sign  of  yielding,  and  Benizet,  satisfied  with  his  test, 
looked  up  and  saw  a  pair  of  curious  eyes  peering  at 
him  through  the  hawthorn  branches.  His  face 
flushed  angrily,  but  when  he  discovered  it  was  Raim- 

79 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

baut,  he  greeted  him  without  resentment,  and  sat 
down  beside  him. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  all  the  saints  were  you  trying 
to  do?"  inquired  Raimbaut.  "Are  you  not  busy 
enough  with  your  goats  that  you  must  occupy  your 
time  like  a  child  at  play?" 

"It  is  not  in  play  that  I  built  this  bridge,"  replied 
Benizet  solemnly. 

"Why,  what  purpose  does  it  serve?"  asked  Raim- 
baut, laughingly.  "Neither  you  nor  the  goats  are 
afraid  to  wet  your  feet. " 

Benizet  made  no  reply,  and  Raimbaut,  accustomed 
to  the  silence  of  the  hillside,  waited  patiently.  At 
last  the  goatherd  spoke,  — 

"Messire  Raimbaut,  for  a  long  time  I  have  wished 
to  tell  you  of  a  great  purpose  that  has  taken  hold  of 
me.  Will  you  listen  to  the  end  and  ask  no  question, 
for  it  is  hard  for  me  to  talk?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Raimbaut,  wondering  at  the 
restrained  earnestness  of  the  goatherd,  "no  single 
word  will  I  speak  until  you  have  finished." 

"As  you  know,"  began  Benizet,  "  for  it  is  a  tale 
often  told  in  Vacqueiras,  my  parents  were  both 
drowned  many  years  ago  in  the  Rhone.  They  were 
on  a  pilgrimage  to  Avignon.  I  was  but  a  little  lad, 
and  can  scarce  remember  them.  As  you  used  to 
dream  of  falling  from  the  Devil's  Tooth,  I  often 
dreamt  of  the  cruel  Rhone,  of  the  waters  rising 
about  me,  and  I  unable  to  escape  or  to  call  aloud. 
One  Easter  morning,  before  sunrise,  as  I  lay  asleep 

80 


BENIZET  THE  GOATHERD 

on  the  hillside,  I  saw  the  fatal  river,  and  trembled 
with  the  fear  of  being  swept  away  to  death  by  the 
fierce  current.  At  the  very  climax  of  my  horror, 
there  came  for  the  first  time  to  my  ears,  a  faint 
melody.  There  was  a  glimmer  in  the  mist  which 
grew  to  a  bright  light,  and  I  saw  a  bridge  spanning 
the  river,  against  whose  wide  arches  the  waters 
surged  in  vain.  Then  above  the  roar  of  the  torrent 
I  heard  a  mighty  voice  which  said,  —  '  Benizet,  build 
thou  the  bridge!'  When  I  woke  I  was  greatly 
troubled  and  asked  myself,  'How  is  it  possible  for 
me,  a  poor  goatherd,  to  accomplish  so  great  a  work?' 
I  questioned,  'is  it  a  message  from  the  saints,  or  a 
dream  which  brings  no  meaning  with  it?'  For  a 
long  time  I  doubted;  but  again  the  vision  came  to 
me,  even  plainer  than  before,  and  again  the  voice 
commanded,  'Benizet,  build  thou  the  bridge!'  Then 
I  was  certain  of  my  duty,  and  I  began  to  consider 
how  the  work  could  be  accomplished.  I  decided 
that  I  must  do  all  that  was  possible  in  my  poor  power, 
and  leave  the  rest  to  Heaven.  I  chose  this  place, 
where  the  brook  ran  swiftly,  and  taking  stones  from 
the  fields,  I  framed  a  single  arch,  which  was  under- 
mined and  carried  away  in  a  night.  Again  I  tried, 
and  again  the  waters  triumphed.  At  each  vision 
I  noticed  how  the  stones  were  laid;  and  now, 
at  last,  I  have  built  a  bridge  like  that  of  my  dreams, 
against  which  the  brook  is  powerless.  Even  the 
torrent  of  yesterday  could  not  destroy  it.  If  the 
little  stones  resist  the  small  stream,  will  not  huge 

81 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

rocks  be  able  to  stand  against  the  full  flood  of  the 
Rhone?" 

Raimbaut  had  been  so  impressed  by  the  goatherd's 
tale  that  he  listened  silently  to  its  very  end.  He 
looked  with  wonder  as  Benizet  rose  and  faced  the  sun, 
a  smile  on  his  haggard  face,  his  red  hair  like  a  halo. 
Was  he  fool  or  enthusiast?  Raimbaut  could  not 
decide.  He  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  goatherd 
turned  toward  Avignon,  stretched  his  long  arms  above 
his  head,  and  said,  — 

"The  time  is  come!  I  go  to  build  the  bridge  to- 
day!" 

He  spoke  as  calmly  as  if  it  were  a  garden-wall  he 
planned  to  raise;  and  Raimbaut  asked,  — 

"How  about  the  flock?  Will  you  leave  them  to 
wander  on  the  hillside?" 

"I  care  not,"  replied  the  goatherd;  "never  again 
shall  I  tend  the  goats.  Henceforth  my  labor  is  for 
God  and  man." 

With  these  words  Benizet  tightened  the  straw  rope 
he  wore  around  his  waist  for  a  girdle,  and  would  have 
started  on  the  instant,  had  not  Raimbaut  caught 
him  by  the  robe,  — 

"Wait  until  to-night,  and  I  will  go  with  you." 

"You  jest!"  said  Benizet,  looking  at  him  doubt- 
fully. "Your  duties  are  with  your  master  at 
Courthezon." 

"There  you  are  wrong,"  said '  Raimbaut.  "My 
mission  is  not  a  holy  one,  but  my  duties  at  Cour- 
thezon are  over.  I  must  make  a  pilgrimage  to  save 

82 


BENIZET  THE  GOATHERD 

my  neck.  You  have  told  your  story;  now  I  will  tell 
mine." 

He  pulled  Benizet  down  on  the  grass  again  and 
related  his  unfortunate  experience  at  the  castle  of  his 
over-lord.  The  shepherd  listened  intently  till  Raim- 
baut  finished  with  his  wakening  under  the  thorn- 
bush  by  the  side  of  the  stream. 

"Alas!"  said  Benizet.  "I  fear  you  have  acted 
hastily.  Only  Guilhem  wronged  you,  and  the  Count 
was  kind  from  the  beginning.  You  might  yet  make 
your  peace  with  him. " 

"Truly,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "I  have  no  such 
foolish  hope.  I  have  offended  my  over-lord,  and 
there  is  nothing  left  but  flight.  Neither  do  I  care 
to  return  to  Courthezon  with  shoulders  bent  for 
punishment.  Guilhem  shall  not  have  the  pleasure 
of  laughing  at  me.  The  Count  has  a  strong  arm,  and 
I  must  go  far.  He  will  search  Vacqueiras  first,  and 
may  have  been  there  already.  I  will  not  involve  my 
poor  father  in  my  affairs.  I  wait  only  for  to-night's 
darkness,  and  then  I  am  off  to  Toulouse.  Bernart 
of  Ventadorn  has  told  me,  times  without  number, 
if  ever  I  were  in  trouble  to  come  to  him.  Count 
Raimon,  his  master,  is  a  good  patron,  and  I  am  sure 
I  can  find  some  place  at  his  court.  Besides,  he  has  a 
feud  with  Count  Raimbaut  of  Courthezon,  and  will 
not  give  me  up.  My  way  lies  through  Avignon. 
To-night  we  can  depart  together,  and  be  companions 
on  the  first  stage  of  the  journey." 

Benizet  demurred,  being  doubtful  of  his  right  to 

83 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

delay  his  departure  even  for  a  few  hours,  but  yielded 
at  last  to  Raimbaut's  entreaty.  The  matter  was 
hardly  settled,  when  they  discovered  a  clump  of 
spears  galloping  swiftly  along  the  road.  They  could 
hear  the  hoof -beats  of  the  horses  as  they  clattered  up 
the  hill,  and  the  summons  of  the  spokesman  at  the 
gate  of  the  village.  A  gay  sight  it  was,  and  Raim- 
baut  felt  little  fear  under  the  shelter  of  the  thorn- 
bush;  for  though  a  scant  half  mile  away,  no  man  in 
armor  could  hope  to  reach  him. 

The  men-at-arms  did  not  take  long  to  examine  the 
castle,  and  to  satisfy  themselves  that  Raimbaut 
was  not  within  its  walls.  They  then  searched  the 
village  thoroughly,  and  at  noon  rode  away,  dis- 
appearing on  the  road  to  Courthezon.  Raimbaut 
did  not  fail  to  note,  however,  that  while  twelve  men 
rode  up,  but  ten  departed ;  and  as  he  sat  with  Benizet, 
sharing  his  frugal  lunch,  he  decided  it  would  be  unsafe 
for  him  to  visit  the  castle. 

Jacques  seemed  the  best  intermediary.  Raim- 
baut waited  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  then  set 
out  to  find  him.  He  followed  the  depression  of  the 
hillside,  skirting  the  village,  and  came  at  last  to  a 
dense  clump  of  willows,  which  grew  close  to  the  old 
mill.  Here  he  was  safe  from  discovery,  although  the 
moss-covered  wheel  turned  slowly  close  by  his  elbow, 
and  the  spray  from  the  dripping  water  moistened 
his  hot  forehead.  In  front  of  him  was  a  little  stretch 
of  green  lawn,  and  on  it  was  Jacques,  the  only  person 
in  sight. 

84 


BENIZET  THE   GOATHERD 

The  mill  was  a  favorite  stopping-place  for  wander- 
ing joglars  of  the  humbler  sort,  for  hither  the  peasants 
came  and  here  the  villagers  congregated.  A  tumbler 
could  find  no  better  place  to  show  his  skill  than  the 
lawn  in  front  of  the  mill-door,  where  any  singer  or 
story-teller  could  always  find  an  audience. 

Before  he  could  speak  plainly,  Jacques  had  begun 
to  sing  and  imitate  the  gestures  of  the  story-tellers. 
He  tried  to  repeat  the  feats  of  the  contortionists  when 
he  could  scarce  toddle,  and  he  grew  up  as  supple  as  a 
willow  wand.  He  lost  his  two  front  teeth  in  an  effort 
to  duplicate  the  trick  of  catching  a  pewter  pot  in  his 
mouth.  The  consequence  was  that,  whenever  he 
smiled,  he  showed  a  wide  gap ;  and  as  his  mouth  was 
large,  his  face  mobile  and  full  of  expression,  he  had 
but  to  smile  in  order  to  win  an  answering  laugh. 
When  he  crossed  his  eyes,  over  which  he  had  remark- 
able control,  and  assumed  a  look  of  vacancy,  he  was 
able  to  provoke  a  roar  of  laughter  which  put  his 
audience  in  good  humor  before  he  said  a  word  or 
sang  a  note.  He  was  the  best  liked  of  all  the  village 
lads,  and  Peirol  had  done  his  best  to  spoil  him.  It 
was  to  Raimbaut,  however,  Raimbaut  the  serious, 
Raimbaut  the  dreamer,  that  Jacques  gave  a  devotion 
like  that  of  a  faithful  dog.  It  had  long  ago  been 
arranged  between  the  boys  to  go  from  court  to  court 
together,  Raimbaut  as  a  troubadour  and  Jacques  a 
joglar,  to  sing  his  songs  and  tumble  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  common  people. 

Since     Raimbaut' s     departure     to     Courthezon, 

85 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

Jacques  had  been  indefatigable  in  his  efforts  to  per- 
fect himself,  and  as  Raimbaut  peered  through  the 
gaps  in  the  willow  branches,  he  could  see  the  miller's 
lad  practising  patiently.  He  turned  hand-springs 
and  cart-wheels  without  number;  he  twisted  him- 
self like  a  trout  fresh  caught  from  the  brook,  and 
performed  feats  of  dexterity  that  made  Raimbaut 
wonder.  After  each  exploit  he  bowed  gravely  to  an 
imaginary  audience  and  said,  —  "I  hope  I  please 
you,  gracious  dames  and  noble  masters." 

When  Jacques  had  finished,  he  came  directly  to 
the  clump  of  willows,  on  a  protruding  branch  of 
which  he  had  hung  his  coat. 

At  Raimbaut's  low  call,  he  rushed  to  him  with  a 
cry  of  joy.  He  listened  with  wonder  to  Raim- 
baut's story,  interrupting  again  and  again  with 
exclamations  of  admiration,  and  pledged  himself  to 
carry  out  his  orders  to  the  very  letter.  He  could  not 
restrain  his  amazement  at  the  struggle  with  the  wolf- 
hound. 

"By  my  faith!"  said  he;  "'tis  better  than  the 
stories  the  farmers  tell  while  they  wait  to  have  their 
corn  ground.  'T  is  a  marvellous  tale,  the  like  of 
which  I  have  never  heard.  I  would  give  one  of  my 
eyes  to  have  seen  Guilhem  when  he  discovered  his 
bed-fellow !  I  warrant  that  he  raised  the  castle  with 
his  cries,  and  kept  a  torch  burning  until  morning." 

"Truly,"  declared  Raimbaut,  "in  spite  of  my  oath, 
I  confess  I  have  neither  love  nor  pity  for  him ;  yet  now 
that  my  anger  has  left  me,  I  remember  I  had  many 

86 


BENIZET  THE  GOATHERD 

good  friends  at  the  castle,  and  the  Count  was  won- 
drous kind  to  me.  He  made  me  strange  promises,  the 
purport  of  which  I  cannot  understand.  I  wish  I 
might  be  reconciled  to  him,  but  after  last  night,  there 
is  nothing  for  me  but  flight.  Will  you  come  to  Tou- 
louse with  me?  " 

"  Come  with  you!  "  exclaimed  Jacques,  "  I  have 
had  no  other  thought." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Raimbaut,  "  perhaps  I  should  bid 
you  stay  here  until  I  have  a  little  established  myself." 

"  I  pray  you  give  me  no  such  command,"  cried 
Jacques  pleadingly.  "  Truly  I  should  follow  you  like 
the  dog  whose  master  says,  '  Go  home ! '  but  whose 
love  is  too  great  for  his  obedience." 

"  Good  Jacques,  my  heart  would  be  sore  to  leave 
you.  I  have  learned  at  Courthezon  that,  in  spite  of 
my  vow,  charity  toward  the  world  does  not  always 
win  love  in  return.  How  soon  can  you  start  with 
me?" 

"  I  am  ready  now,"  replied  Jacques.  "  I  have  only 
to  speak  five  words  in  the  mill.  It  is  but  a  few  steps  to 
the  castle,  and  I  can  join  you  on  the  hillside  within 
the  hour." 

"Naught  care" I  to  take  from  Vacqueiras, "  said 
Raimbaut,  "  but  my  old  lute  standing  in  the  corner  of 
my  room.  It  is  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  I  tried  a 
score  of  instruments  at  Courthezon.  They  were 
splendid  with  ivory  and  silver,  yet  they  gave  only 
faint  echoes  of  the  rich  tones  that  come  from  the 
mellow  chest  of  the  old  lute.  Whisper  to  Michonne 

87 


THE  SEVERED   MANTLE 

that  I  am  well,  and  on  my  way  to  Toulouse;  but  not  a 
word  to  any  other.  I  am  determined  to  take  my 
troubles  with  me,  though  my  heart  is  sad  that  I  can- 
not say  farewell  to  Anselme,  who  is  far  away,  nor 
receive  my  father's  blessing.  You  will  find  me  with 
Benizet  by  the  brook." 

"  I  will  bring  the  lute,"  replied  Jacques,  "  and  will 
also  fetch  a  purse  of  money,  and  a  thick  mantle. 
The  ravens  will  not  feed  you  as  they  did  the  prophet. 
Saint  Martin,  your  patron,  is  long  since  dead,  and 
none  other  is  likely  to  share  his  cloak  with  you." 

Jacques  disappeared  on  his  errand,  and  Raimbaut 
made  his  way  back  to  Benizet.  It  was  quite  dark 
when  Jacques  came  stumbling  up  the  hill,  breathless 
with  excitement  and  hurry.  He  reported  that  there 
were  two  men-at-arms  at  the  castle,  but  he  got  the 
ear  of  Michonne  without  difficulty.  The  good  woman 
had  cheerfully  given  him  half  the  contents  of  the 
household  purse,  and,  in  the  shadows  of  the  court- 
yard, handed  him  the  lute  and  the  mantle.  She  sent 
a  message  of  love  to  Raimbaut,  assuring  him  that 
Peirol  had  not  been  ill-treated,  and  bidding  him 
make  his  way  as  quickly  as  possible  to  Toulouse. 
She  also  sent  some  sweet  cakes,  which  Jacques  de- 
clared had  been  plentifully  salted  with  her  tears. 

"  And  yet,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  "  I  have  kept 
back  some  dreadful  news  which  I  scarce  know  how  to 
tell  you.  One  of  the  men-at-arms,  whose  tongue 
Michonne  loosened  with  wine,  declares  that  they 
found  the  good  Count  this  morning  lying  on  the 


BENIZET  THE  GOATHERD 

floor  of  his  room,  cold  and  dead.  His  body  was 
twisted  with  agony  and  his  face  drawn  and  lined 
with  pain.  They  think  he  cried  out,  but  at  the 
time  the  whole  castle  was  disturbed  by  the  dis- 
covery of  Touche,  so  that  no  one  heard  him.  The 
ill-fated  man  passed  away  with  no  one  to  minister  to 
him.  When  the  Count's  death  was  announced,  all 
Courthezon  was  convulsed,  and  there  were  cries  for 
'  Berguedan,'  at  first  doubtful,  but  growing  more  and 
more  insistent.  When  the  Spaniard  did  not  answer, 
they  sought  him  long  and  eagerly.  It  was  the 
Countess  Tyburge,  who  had  taken  control  of  the 
castle  in  the  name  of  her  son,  who  at  last  informed 
the  clamorers  that  Berguedan  had  received  a  mes- 
sage summoning  him  to  Barcelona,  and  had  departed 
in  the  cool  of  the  early  morning.  The  sudden  dis- 
appearance of  the  Spaniard  confirmed  suspicions 
already  strong.  There  are  a  dozen  parties  of  horse- 
men following  him,  and  should  they  catch  the  vil- 
lain it  will  mean  a  quick  death  by  the  roadside." 

"  Alas!  "  cried  Raimbaut.  "  It  is  indeed  dreadful 
news." 

"  The  Countess  Tyburge,"  continued  Jacques,  "  so 
the  man-at-arms  sa'id,  made  no  effort  to  send  for 
you,  and  your  offence  was  forgotten  in  the  shadow  of 
the  great  sorrow.  It  was  the  little  chaplain  who 
urged  that  you  be  sought  for  as  well  as  Berguedan, 
giving  assurances  that  you  should  not  be  punished." 

"  Truly,"  said  Raimbaut  sadly,  "  I  was  ungrate- 
ful to  the  good  Count,  although  I  loved  him.  Were 

89 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

he  alive  I  should  return  to  Courthezon  to  take  any 
punishment  he  might  mete  out  to  me;  yet  I  am  not 
fool  enough  to  trust  myself  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
the  Countess  Tyburge,  with  Guilhem  at  her  elbow  to 
prompt  her." 

Jacques'  story  was  a  spur  to  their  departure,  and 
they  waited  only  until  the  twilight  had  given  place 
to  the  blackness  of  the  night.  Benizet  was  quite 
ready,  for  he  owned  nothing  in  the  world  but  his 
crook  and  a  bag  for  food.  They  avoided  the  village, 
passing  through  olive  groves  and  vineyards  until 
they  reached  the  valley,  and  did  not  take  to  the 
road  till  they  had  put  a  safe  distance  between  them- 
selves and  Vacqueiras. 

It  lacked  a  few  hours  of  dawn  when  they  came 
within  sight  of  the  scattered  lights  of  Avignon. 
Making  their  way  across  country  over  the  rough 
furrows,  they  found  a  deep  crevice  where  they  were 
hidden  from  view  and  sheltered  from  the  night- 
wind.  Rolling  themselves  up  in  their  mantles, 
Benizet  and  Jacques  were  soon  snoring  heavily; 
but  Raimbaut  was  too  excited  to  fall  asleep  at 
at  once.  The  peace  and  sweetness  of  the  little 
castle  of  Vacqueiras  could  be  his  no  longer.  He  must 
face  the  world  bravely,  hoping  for  friendship,  but 
prepared  for  what  might  come.  He  was  determined 
to  push  on  to  Toulouse,  the  rosy  city  of  his  dreams, 
of  which  Bernart  had  so  often  spoken.  Here  he  was 
sure  to  find  happiness. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BEAUCAIRE 

IT  was  almost  noon  when  they  left  the  shelter  of 
the  rocks.  The  day  was  hot  and  sultry,  and  seemed 
doubly  oppressive  after  the  cool  shadows.  They 
had  not  gone  far  before  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
river.  To  Raimbaut  and  Jacques  a  bridge  across 
the  wide  waters  seemed  as  impossible  as  a  thorough- 
fare to  Heaven.  They  were  filled  with  awe  and 
wonder  also  at  the  great  city,  with  its  tall  towers 
pointing  to  the  sky.  The  world  seemed  very  large 
and  very  strange.  Even  Jacques  was  silent,  and 
Raimbaut  was  burdened  with  the  thought  of  part- 
ing with  Benizet.  The  goatherd  only  was  cheer- 
ful. He  bade  them  farewell  as  calmly  as  if  it  were 
but  for  a  day. 

"  Some  time,"  said  he  to  Raimbaut,  "  the  saints 
will  call  you  to  a  mission  as  they  have  me.  I  know 
not  what  it  will  be,  but  the  summons  will  come,  for 
your  life  has  been  saved  by  prayer.  Meanwhile,  do 
not  doubt  the  power  of  the  saints,  for  by  their  aid  I 
shall  build  a  bridge  on  which  you  may  cross  the 
Rhone  dry-shod." 

He  lifted  his  hand  in  blessing  and  left  them,  not 
once  looking  back.  They  watched  the  gaunt  figure 
descend  the  hill  and  pass  through  the  wide  gate. 
When  the  city  had  swallowed  him  up,  Raimbaut  and 

91 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Jacques  continued  on  their  way  with  a  strange  feel- 
ing in  their  hearts  that  the  goatherd  had  been 
taken  by  the  hand  of  Death.  Jacques  was  the  first 
to  regain  his  spirits. 

"  There  is  a  good  man-at-arms  spoiled  by  a  silly 
fancy,"  said  he.  "  All  his  strength  is  in  his  body, 
and  of  what  use  will  it  be  to  count  beads  in  a  monas- 
tery? He  cannot  build  the  bridge  with  his  own 
hands,  and  his  halting  tongue  will  not  persuade 
others  to  help  him.  I  thank  the  good  Lord  I  have 
no  such  foolish  ideas  in  my  head!  Give  me  three 
meals  a  day,  say  I,  a  decent  covering  for  my 
back,  and  a  shelter  for  the  night.  I  promise  you  I 
will  not  dream  of  building  bridges,  nor  of  missions 
from  the  saints.  If  to  this  be  added  a  friend  by  my 
side  and  a  song  in  my  throat,  I  ask  nothing  more  of 
Heaven." 

"  And  yet,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  were  there  no 
men  on  earth  but  eaters  and  singers,  not  much 
would  be  accomplished!  I  pray  some  day  there 
may  come  to  me  a  great  love  and  a  great  ambition, 
even  if  they  bring  trouble  with  them." 

At  this  idealism  Jacques  only  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders to  show  his  disagreement,  and  with  a  last  look 
at  the  tall  tower  of  Nostre-Dame-des-Doms  they 
resumed  their  journey.  All  the  morning  they  walked 
steadily  southward  toward  Beaucaire.  They  met 
many  travellers  who  told  them  that  the  fair  was 
nearly  over,  and  the  merchants  were  taking  their 
diminished  stocks  to  other  markets.  The  boys 

92 


BEAUCAIRE 

learned  that  the  last  days  were  given  over  to  merry- 
making and  revelry,  and  an  old  joglar,  with  whom  the 
boys  shared  their  noon  meal,  advised  them  to  keep 
out  of  Beaucaire.  This  they  resolved  to  do,  but 
when  they  reached  Tarascon  they  could  find  no  place 
to  spend  the  night. 

Only  a  few  hundred  yards  away,  across  the  water, 
was  the  fair  ground,  covered  with  thousands  of  plane 
trees  swaying  in  the  wind  and  bright  with  the  descend- 
ing sun.  The  sound  of  merry  voices  and  the  music  of 
many  instruments  floated  over  to  them,  and  they 
could  see  the  crowds  hurrying  to  and  fro.  Dominat- 
ing all  was  the  mighty  castle  itself.  The  boys  forced 
their  way  through  the  dense  throng  to  the  river's 
edge. 

The  stream  was  covered  with  boats  loaded  almost 
to  sinking,  as  they  crept  slowly  across  to  Tarascon 
and  returned,  empty,  to  the  other  side.  The  sights 
and  sounds  nearly  drove  Jacques  mad  with  excite- 
ment, and  he  begged  Raimbaut  to  take  the  first  boat. 

"  Bah !  "  said  he,  "  we  are  neither  old  ladies  nor  chil- 
dren. I  have  my  dagger  and  you  your  long  sword, 
over  which  you  have  been  tripping  ever  since  you  left 
Vacqueiras.  They  cannot  eat  us,  and  with  all  this 
crossing  the  place  will  be  nearly  empty  by  sunset." 

For  a  long  time  Raimbaut  refused,  though  Beau- 
caire had  been  to  him  for  many  years  a  place  of 
wonder.  Beyond  the  castle  were  the  lists  where 
Peirol  had  shorn  Count  des  Baux's  helmet,  "as  if  it 
had  been  the  rind  of  a  cheese,"  and  here  he  had  won 

93 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

the  silver  drinking-cup  with  the  vine-leaves  carven 
on  the  bowl.  At  last  Raimbaut  decided  to  cross  the 
river,  pass  through  the  fair  ground,  and  leave  before 
dark.  The  old  joglar  had  warned  them  that  neither 
purse  nor  life  was  safe  after  nightfall,  but  the  tempta- 
tion was  too  great,  and  Raimbaut  hailed  a  ferryman 
who  was  pushing  off. 

Although  they  crossed  quickly,  they  had  time  to 
study  the  castle  as  they  approached  it,  a  strong  for- 
tress, perched  on  its  mighty  rock  rising  precipitously 
above  the  village  and  the  plain.  There  were  trees 
and  gardens  inside  its  walls,  and  above  them  all  rose 
a  beautiful  tower,  the  angles  of  which  were  like 
none  other  tha^  Raimbaut  had  ever  seen. 

As  they  neared  the  opposite  shore,  they  saw  that 
the  bank  of  the  river  was  crowded  with  people,  push- 
ing and  elbowing  in  their  eagerness  to  get  a  place ;  and 
as  the  keel  grated  on  the  beach,  there  was  a  mad  rush 
to  enter.  Raimbaut  was  lucky  enough  to  get  ashore 
dry-shod,  but  Jacques  was  knocked  over  by  a  huge 
bale  on  the  back  of  a  lusty  Moor,  and  landed  in  the 
water,  wet  to  the  middle.  He  scrambled  out,  laugh- 
ing heartily,  shaking  himself  like  a  dog.  A  joke  was 
all  the  same  to  Jacques,  whether  it  were  on  himself 
or  someone  else. 

"Tell  me,  Raimbaut,"  inquired  he,  as  he  looked 
ruefully  at  his  wet  clothes,  "  why  do  the  saints  allow 
a  Christian  like  me  to  be  overthrown  by  an  unbeliever 
like  that  blackamoor?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  it  is  because  he  is 

94 


BEAUCAIRE 

a  very  good  Moor,  and  you,  I  know,  are  a  poor 
Christian." 

At  this  Jacques  laughed  louder  than  ever,  and  they 
hurried  away  to  avoid  a  scuffle  between  two  rough 
merchants,  one  of  whom  drew  a  dagger  while  the 
other  flourished  a  pair  of  gleaming  shears. 

The  booths  stretched  in  long  lines  underneath  the 
plane  trees.  It  was  evident  by  the  frequent  gaps  that 
many  had  been  taken  down ;  those  still  standing  had 
only  cheap  and  gaudy  articles  for  sale. 

The  boys  passed  a  crowd  of  drunken  men  and 
women  seated  around  a  cask  of  wine.  A  dirty  drab 
with  a  flaming  face  stretched  out  an  inviting  hand 
to  Raimbaut,  which  he  declined  with  such  evident 
perturbation,  that  the  whole  mob  set  up  a  yell  of 
laughter  and  derision.  Although  the  fair  had  its 
own  officers  to  suppress  disorder,  the  court  had  dis- 
persed with  the  formal  closing,  and  the  gayer  and 
more  turbulent  spirits  were  now  given  loose  rein. 

Down  the  path  the  lads  passed,  and  had  almost 
reached  the  open  fields,  when  they  came  upon  some 
young  people  dancing  merrily  under  the  trees  to  the 
music  of  a  red-faced  musician.  He  was  sawing 
fiercely  at  his  viol,  and  was  perched  on  the  roof  of  a 
booth  so  decrepit  that  it  leaned  at  a  crazy  angle  and 
threatened  every  moment  to  collapse.  A  very  lively 
party  it  was,  so  intoxicated  with  the  joy  of  living 
that  they  needed  little  inspiration  from  the  wine-cup. 
They  were  peasants  from  the  fields,  villagers  from 
Tarascon,  and  varlets  from  the  Castle  of  Beaucaire. 

95 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

The  girls  were  young,  pretty,  and  clad  in  bright 
colors;  they  danced  with  an  abandon  at  which  Raim- 
baut  opened  his  eyes.  He  watched  half-admiringly, 
half-doubtfully,  as  they  flitted  to  and  fro  in  the  light 
and  shadow  thrown  by  the  setting  sun  and  waving 
branches. 

Jacques  saw  a  beckoning  hand,  and,  leaving 
Raimbaut  like  an  arrow  from  its  bow,  he  seized  a 
plump  damsel  and  swung  gaily  into  the  dance. 

For  a  moment  Raimbaut  stood  alone,  and  then  a 
young  girl  approached  him  coyly  and  said,  — • 

"Come,  my  master,  are  you  too  fine  to  be  merry 
with  a  village  lass?  " 

"  Indeed,  no,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  but  the  steps  of 
the  dance  are  strange  to  me,  and  I  would  not  show  my 
awkwardness  before  your  bright  eyes." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  not  clumsy,"  replied  the  girl 
looking  admiringly  at  Raimbaut's  graceful,  well-knit 
figure. 

"  Oho!  "  cried  Jacques's  partner  as  she  whirled  by 
them,  "  have  at  him,  '  Little  Mouse  '!  He  cannot 
refuse  you." 

'  Truly  I  cannot,"  replied  Raimbaut,  as  he  bent 
over  the  pretty  face  which  was  lifted  close  to  his. 
The  dark  hair  had  been  rumpled  by  the  wind,  the 
lips  were  parted,  and,  the  bare  brown  throat  rose  and 
fell  under  the  exertion  of  the  last  dance.  Raimbaut 
looked  into  the  dark  eyes,  brilliant  with  passion,  and 
his  heart  beat  rapidly  as  he  passed  his  arm  around  the 
slender  waist. 

96 


BEAUCAIRE 

He  was  about  to  join  the  dance,  humming  the 
swinging  tune  under  his  breath,  when  he  caught 
sight  of  a  knot  of  ribbon  on  the  girl's  shoulder.  It 
was  no  larger  than  a  red  rose,  yet  as  his  eyes  rested 
on  it  he  drew  back,  for  well  he  knew  its  meaning. 
His  blood  urged  him  on;  his  soul  forbade;  and 
while  he  hesitated,  there  emerged  from  the  booth 
a  group  of  rough  men  and  women  engaged  in  a 
fierce  brawl.  With  loud  oaths  and  cries  of  pain  and 
anger,  the  turbulent  tide  swept  across  the  path  and 
engulfed  Raimbaut  and  the  girl,  who,  with  a  cry  of 
terror,  clung  to  him  closely.  As  she  did  so,  Raim- 
baut felt  the  pressure  on  his  breast  of  the  Book  of 
Hours,  and  in  an  instant  he  remembered  his  vow. 
Even  then  the  flame  of  desire  burned  hotly  in  his 
veins,  and  the  battle  was  still  in  doubt,  when  his 
purse  was  gripped  by  a  strong  hand  and  torn  from 
his  girdle. 

The  thief  sprang  away  before  Raimbaut  could 
turn,  and  would  have  escaped  had  it  not  been  for 
Jacques,  who  gripped  him  at  his  second  stride. 
Raimbaut  was  almost  as  quick,  and  a  very  neces- 
sary ally,  for  the  -thief  was  a  huge  villain  and  laid 
about  him  lustily.  Indeed,  he  would  have  beaten 
them  both,  had  not  the  crowd  interfered,  at  which 
he  suddenly  changed  his  tactics  and  cried  loudly 
for  help. 

"  Thieves!  Thieves!  "  he  yelled.  "  Help  me,  good 
friends! "  ceasing  to  struggle  and  holding  the  purse 
above  his  head.  He  made  this  appeal  just  as  a  caval- 

97 


THE  SEVERED   MANTLE 

cade  came  up,  at  the  head  of  which  rode  a  lady 
carrying  a  falcon  on  her  glove.  Close  behind  her 
was  the  figure  of  a  man  in  sombre  black,  lightened 
here  and  there  with  touches  of  scarlet.  He  looked 
half-priest  and  half-gallant.  There  followed  knights, 
squires,  and  ladies,  with  servants  and  men-at-arms, 
riding  westward  in  the  cool  of  the  evening. 

"  What  is  the  trouble  here?  "  demanded  the  lady, 
speaking  with  authority.  She  was  dressed  in  dark 
velvet,  a  collar  of  lace  at  her  throat,  and  sat  her 
large  palfrey  as  squarely  as  any  knight  behind  her. 
The  boys  were  too  startled  to  speak  quickly,  and 
the  man  to  whom  they  clung  found  breath  first. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Ermengarda,  most  noble  Count- 
ess," he  cried.      "  I  am  Antoine,  Guilhem  of  Ber- 
guedan's  own  man.     I  was  passing  along  the  way, 
when  these  two  desperate  young  thieves  sprang  at 
me,  one  at  my  throat  and  the  other  at  my  purse." 
'  The  rogue  lies!  "  cried  Jacques. 
1  The  purse  is  mine,"  declared  Raimbaut.     "  He 
tore  it  from  my  girdle!  " 

"Silence!  all  of  you!"  commanded  the  lady. 
"  Speak  only  in  answer  to  my  questions."  Then, 
turning  to  Raimbaut,  she  said,  —  "  First  tell  me  who 
you  are,  and  whence  you  come." 

At  this  Raimbaut  hesitated,  and  the  thief  clam- 
ored eagerly,  — 

"  Note  you  that,  noble  Countess?  I  am  sure  you 
have  often  seen  me  with  my  master.  This  rascal 
dares  not  tell  his  name.  I  warrant  he  is  a  well- 

98 


BEAUCAIRE 

known  thief  who  has  come  to  ply  his  trade  here  on 
the  last  days  of  the  fair." 

Raimbaut,  looking  up  at  the  Countess,  replied,  — 

"  For  good  reasons,  not  because  of  guilt,  I  cannot 
tell  my  name.  What  matters  it  whether  it  be  Guil- 
hem,  Pierre,  or  Philippe,  if  the  purse  be  mine?" 

The  Countess  frowned. 

"  You  speak  too  boldly  for  one  who  conceals  his 
name.  I  might  condemn  you  to  a  thrashing  for  rude- 
ness, were  you  guilty  of  nothing  worse." 

Raimbaut  flushed  to  the  brow. 

"  In  truth,  madam,"  said  he,  "  I  am  to  blame.  My 
only  excuse  is  that  I  have  a  whit  forgot  myself  in 
the  excitement  of  the  struggle.  I  beg  that  you  will 
pardon  me.  I  ask  no  fairer  judge." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  approval,  but  the  Countess 
would  not  be  mollified.  In  another  instant  she 
would  have  condemned  Raimbaut  and  Jacques  to  a 
cell  in  the  Castle  of  Beaucaire,  when  a  demoiselle, 
who  sat  her  palfrey  close  to  the  lady  Ermengarda's 
elbow  interposed,  — 

"  My  good  Countess,  I  fear  we  may  do  a  wrong  to 
these  boysx  Is  it  not  easy  to  test  the  truth  of  what 
they  say?  Perhaps  this  man  is  as  great  a  liar  as  his 
master." 

There  were  sounds  of  laughter,  and  the  gruff  voice 
of  an  old  knight  said,  — 

"  Indeed,  Berguedan  is  a  liar  beyond  compare. 
The  Lady  Alazais  has  touched  him  close." 

"  Well,  my  wise  demoiselle,"  said  the  Countess, 

99 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

turning  impatiently,  "  tell  us  how  we  shall  test  the 
truth  between  these  knaves.  Tell  us  quickly,  for  I 
would  be  at  Nismes  before  dark." 

Alazais,  who  was  enveloped  in  a  long  cloak  with  a 
hood  from  which  her  face  emerged  like  a  flower, 
colored  a  little,  but  answered  the  Countess  firmly,  — 

"  Let  this  noisy  rascal  whisper  in  Messire  Rogier's 
ear,  and  the  boy  into  mine,  the  exact  contents  of  the 
purse.  We  will  then  declare  aloud  both  statements. 
You  shall  examine  the  purse,  and  the  rightful  owner 
it  will  be  easy  to  discover." 

At  this  there  were  cries  of  approval,  broken  by 
Messire  Rogier's  declaration,  — 

"  The  test  should  succeed,  if  they  be  not  both 
thieves,  which  is  more  than  likely.  There  are  no 
honest  men  left  in  Beaucaire  to-night." 

Antoine  blanched  a  little  when  the  test  was  pro- 
posed, but  assented  readily,  and  recovered  too 
quickly  to  be  noticed  except  by  Alazais,  who  watched 
him  keenly  with  her  blue  eyes.  Raimbaut  was 
clearly  pleased  to  whisper  into  the  little  lady's  ear 
as  she  bent  from  her  saddle,  and  she  blushed  again  at 
the  nearness  of  his  lips.  The  purse  was  handed  to 
the  Countess,  and  at  her  nod,  Rogier  declared,  — 

"Antoine  tells  me  that  the  purse  contains  a  small 
sum  of  money,  the  exact  amount  of  which  he  does  not 
know,  for  he  has  made  many  purchases  to-day  for  his 
master.  He  says  also  that  it  holds  a  book,  left  with 
him  by  Berguedan,  the  name  of  which  he  cannot  tell, 
as  he  has  not  the  gift  of  reading." 

100 


BEAUCAIRE 

Alazais  laughed  scornfully.  "  Indeed,  he  has  a 
ready  wit  and  nimble  fingers.  He  knows,  of  course, 
the  purse  must  hold  money.  He  thinks  the  lad  is 
poor  and  imagines  it  is  a  small  sum.  Why  he  speaks 
of  the  book  I  have  no  idea,  unless  he  felt  its  corners 
with  his  fingers.  The  lad  is  more  exact.  He  tells 
me  that  the  purse  contains  twenty  deniers  and  a 
package  of  strings  for  his  lute.  Open  the  purse,  my 
good  Countess,  and  give  your  judgment." 

There  was  dead  silence  as  Ermengarda  loosened 
the  string  of  the  little  pouch,  took  from  it  a  small 
silver  box  and  poured  the  pieces  of  money  into 
Rogier's  hand,  bidding  him  count  them.  She  opened 
the  little  box,  which  was  the  size  and  shape  of  a 
small  book,  and  showed  the  lute-strings  folded 
carefully  away  where  the  dampness  could  not  reach 
them. 

"  I'  faith,"  said  she,  "  to  a  musician  the  strings  for 
his  instrument  are  no  less  precious  than  gold  itself. 
He  has  certainly  told  the  truth." 

"  He  is  also  right  about  the  money,"  declared 
Rogier,  "  save  for  a  few  pieces  of  copper,  which  he 
doubtless  had  forgotten." 

Ermengarda' s  face  softened  a  little  as  she  said,  — 

"  Here  is  your  purse,  my  lad,  which  I  return  to 
you  with  a  warning  that  you  speak  not  so  boldly 
again  to  those  above  you." 

She  then  turned  to  Antoine,  whose  confidence  had 
left  him,  and  who  looked  the  convicted  culprit  indeed. 

'  The  Count  has  a  narrow  room  for  you  in  his  castle 
101 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

at  Beaucaire.  I  shall  send  you  to  him  with  instruc- 
tions to  punish  as  you  deserve." 

With  these  words,  the  Countess  bowed  gravely  and 
the  cavalcade  rode  on,  leaving  Raimbaut  and  Jacques 
with  Antoine,  who  was  in  charge  of  two  sturdy  men- 
at-arms.  In  spite  of  the  hands  twisted  in  his  collar, 
he  turned  upon  Raimbaut  with  a  furious  shower  of 
oaths  and  threats  of  dire  vengeance  which  ceased  not 
until  he  was  dragged  away. 

The  dancers  and  revellers  had  disappeared  like 
frightened  rabbits  among  the  trees,  for  well  they 
knew  the  stern  justice  of  Ermengarda  and  feared  that 
it  might  include  witness  as  well  as  criminal. 

The  boys  lingered  for  a  moment,  and  then  hurried 
on  to  the  open  fields  across  which  the  cavalcade  had 
already  galloped.  Jacques  was  a  full  ten  paces 
behind,  watching  something  over  his  shoulder,  and 
Raimbaut  turned  at  last  to  wait  for  him.  He  could 
see  two  brightly  clad  figures  standing  on  the  edge 
of  the  wood,  one  of  whom  waved  her  hand  and 
beckoned  to  them. 

"Shall  we  go  back?"  asked  Jacques  longingly. 

"  No!  "  replied  Raimbaut  as  he  swung  on  his  heel 
and  started  at  a  brisk  pace. 

For  a  little  while  Jacques  followed,  and  then  fell 
back  again. 

"  Wait,"  he  begged,  "  they  are  both  calling  to  us!  " 

"  I  will  not,"  replied  Raimbaut. 

"  Why  not  go  to  them?  "  inquired  Jacques  plead- 
ingly. "  We  are  neither  priests  nor  monks.  What 

102 


BEAUCAIRE 

harm  is  there  in  a  kiss  or  two?  The  girl  you  had  in 
your  arms  was  beautiful  as  the  springtime." 

"She  was  indeed!"  replied  Raimbaut,  "and  so 
was  the  woman  sent  by  the  demons  to  tempt  Saint 
Anthony  in  the  desert.  I  did  not  know  that  a 
wanton,  with  the  mark  of  her  trade  showing  plainly 
on  her  shoulder,  could  tempt  me  so  nearly  to  the 
breaking  of  my  vow." 

"  At  least  we  can  stop  to  wave  our  hands  to  them 
in  farewell,"  declared  Jacques. 

But  Raimbaut  would  neither  pause  nor  turn  his 
head,  and  Jacques  noticed  that  his  master's  hand 
clutched  the  frayed  corner  of  his  severed  mantle  as 
if  it  were  an  amulet  to  protect  him  from  sin. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE   ROSY   CITY 

IT  was  mid-afternoon;  the  sun  was  a  ball  of  fire, 
and  every  red  brick  in  Toulouse  was  heated  as  if  in 
a  furnace.  The  yellow  Garonne  ran  lazily  around 
the  city  walls,  and  swirled  against  the  base  of  a 
tower  of  Count  Raimon's  palace.  At  a  wide  window 
of  this  tower,  overlooking  the  river  and  the  level 
meadows  beyond,  sat  Bernart  of  Ventadorn.  His 
head  was  bare,  and  his  robe  open  at  the  throat  to 
tempt  a  soft  breeze  that  came  and  went  like  a  capri- 
cious woman's  favor.  His  lute  was  in  his  hand, 
and  a  closely  written  scroll  on  a  table  before  him. 
He  touched  the  instrument  lightly  and  sang  in  a 
voice  as  rich  and  mellow  as  an  old  viol,  - 

"  With  gladness  am  I  compassed  like  a  golden  wall, — 
Why  should  I  from  such  joyous  thraldom  seek  to  'scape?" 

He  was  not  satisfied  and  sang  the  words  again, 
slightly  changing  the  melody.  Still,  they  did  not 
please  him,  and  he  was  patiently  working  over  the 
stubborn  lines  which  refused  to  be  yoked  to  music, 
when  there  came  a  knock  on  the  door.  He  cried 
out  cheerily,  "  Enter,  my  friend,"  but  did  not  look 
up,  so  engrossed  was  he  by  his  task.  He  repeated 
the  lines  until  he  had  them  perfect,  and  then  turned 
to  see  two  dusty,  sunburnt  boys  on  the  threshold. 

104 


THE  ROSY  CITY 

For  a  moment  he  stared  speechless.  Then  dropping 
his  lute  with  a  crash  of  discordant  notes,  he  caught 
Raimbaut  in  his  arms  and  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks. 

"  'Tis  my  lad  of  Vacqueiras,"  he  cried,  "  grown  so 
tall  I  hardly  knew  him.  And  here  is  Jacques  too, 
with  the  same  sad  countenance  and  no  teeth  yet 
sprouted  to  fill  the  gap  made  by  the  pewter 
pot.  Tell  me,  my  boy,  are  you  able  to  do  the 
trick  you  were  practising  when  last  I  saw  you  at  the 
mill?" 

"  Indeed  yes,"  replied  Jacques,  a  broad  smile  on 
his  face  in  recognition  of  his  cordial  reception. 
"  And  I  have  a  dozen  more  I  shall  be  pleased  to 
show  you." 

"  If  you  choose,  you  shall  appear  this  very  night 
before  the  Count  and  his  guests,"  declared  Bernart. 
"  I  will  arrange  with  the  seneschal,  and  he  will  sup- 
ply you  with  everything  you  need  for  your  per- 
formance." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  cried  Jacques  eagerly,  "  and 
I  promise  not  to  finish  sprawling  flat  on  my  back,  as 
you  saw  rrie  a  year  ago." 

The  troubadour  gave  the  boys  fruit  from  the  dish 
which  served  as  prop  to  his  scroll  of  parchment, 
pressed  Raimbaut  into  the  chair  by  the  window,  and 
inquired  about  Peirol. 

"Alas!  "  said  he,  "  I  hoped  to  hear  better  news  of 
my  old  friend.  Now  tell  me  something  about  your- 
self. Only  yesterday  I  was  speaking  of  you  to  my 
master,  and  won  from  him  a  half-promise  that  he 

105 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

would  make  you  his  squire,  should  you  come  to  Tou- 
louse." 

As  Raimbaut  told  of  his  experience  at  Courthe- 
zon,  he  realized,  as  he  had  not  done  before,  that  he 
had  been  hasty  and  thoughtless  of  the  Count  who 
had  been  so  kind  to  him.  He  doubted  that  the  pro- 
vocation from  Guilhem  had  been  sufficient  to  ex- 
cuse his  sudden  departure,  and  the  tragic  death  of 
his  over-lord  had  left  him  oppressed  with  sorrow  and 
regret.  Yet  he  told  his  story  without  extenuation. 
Although  the  troubadour  shook  his  head  once  or 
twice  doubtfully,  at  the  end  he  embraced  Raimbaut 
and  said,  - 

"  A  greybeard  might  have  distinguished  between 
the  good  Count  and  his  malicious  nephew,  but  I  do 
not  see  how  a  lad  of  spirit  could  have  acted  other- 
wise. I  have  never  liked  the  pale  Tyburge  with  her 
furtive  looks;  and  as  for  Berguedan,  I  loathe  his 
very  presence.  When  I  meet  him,  I  have  the 
same  feeling  as  if  I  suddenly  came  upon  a  serpent  in 
the  grass.  He  is  like  a  snake  in  more  ways  than 
one,  and  it  is  not  improbable  that  he  knows  more 
about  the  Count's  death  than  he  would  choose  to 
tell.  There  is  nothing  to  connect  him  with  your 
father's  injury,  but  he  is  none  too  good  to  have 
struck  the  treacherous  blow." 

"  We  have  no  clue,"  declared  Raimbaut,  "  but  the 
little  tuft  of  red  roan  hair  which  I  always  carry  with 
me.  I  never  cease  to  watch  for  a  horse  of  this 
strange  color.  I  believe  I  shall  some  time  find  him 

106 


THE  ROSY  CITY 

and  discover  my  father's  enemy.  In  spite  of  my 
vow  to  live  like  Saint  Martin  in  charity  with  all  the 
world,  I  do  not  fail  to  pray  that  some  time  I  may 
avenge  the  wrong." 

"  Take  the  advice  of  an  old  man  who  has  seen 
more  than  one  plan  of  vengeance  miscarry,"  said 
Bernart,  solemnly.  '  Trust  Heaven  to  search  out 
the  offender  and  assign  a  fitting  penalty." 

"  I  would  not  question  the  power  of  God,"  an- 
swered Raimbaut,  "  but  since  I  wasted  my  little  store 
of  silver  on  tall  candles  for  the  church,  I  sometimes 
doubt  that  Heaven  troubles  itself  over-much  about 
the  affairs  of  men." 

As  Raimbaut  spoke,  the  kindly  light  went  out  of 
his  face,  the  lines  of  his  jaw  grew  tense,  and  his  eyes 
became  dark  and  angry.  Bernart  watched  him 
wonderingly,  and  then  inquired  concerning  the  long 
journey  from  Vacqueiras  to  Toulouse.  He  listened 
with  great  interest  to  Raimbaut's  description  of  his 
adventure  at  Beaucaire. 

"So  you  met  the  gentle  Antoine!"  exclaimed 
Bernart. '  "  I  know  him  well.  He  was  here  in  Tou- 
louse with  his  master.  He  will  some  day  dance 
gaily  at  his  own  death  on  the  end  of  a  hempen 
cord." 

Raimbaut,  who  had  followed  the  old  Roman  road, 
had  much  to  tell  about  the  students  at  Montpellier 
and  the  beautiful  city  of  Carcassonne.  At  Nar- 
bonne  he  had  lingered  to  watch  the  tall  ships  un- 
loading at  the  piers,  and  to  wonder  at  the  sailors  in 

107 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

their  strange  costumes  who  floated  over  the  Medi- 
terranean from  the  far  Levant.  Once  he  had  seen 
the  Countess  Ermengarda  as  she  walked  on  a  Sun- 
day morning  through  the  "  Passage  of  the  Anchor  " 
to  the  great  church  of  Saint  Just. 

"  Indeed,"  cried  Bernart,  "  it  is  lucky  she  saw  you 
not,  for  in  her  own  town  she  assumes  more  authority 
than  that  of  the  great  God  Himself.  Had  she  caught 
you  there,  you  would  have  been  forced  to  give  your 
name,  your  history,  and  your  future  plans.  She  is 
here  now,  and  tells  my  good  master  how  to  put  on  his 
shoes,  and  when  to  take  them  off. " 

"In  her  presence,"  declared  Jacques,  "  I  feel  like 
a  very  little  dog  who  meets  a  big  one  in  the  mid-road, 
and  is  afraid  either  to  fly  or  to  stand  his  ground!  " 

At  this  both  Bernart  and  Raimbaut  laughed,  and 
the  latter  asked  eagerly,  — 

"  Can  you  tell  me  anything  about  the  fair  demoi- 
selle who  befriended  me  at  Beaucaire  and  rode  by  the 
side  of  the  Countess?  " 

"It  seems  for  all  the  world  like  the  act  of  the  Lady 
Alazais,  the  daughter  of  my  lord,"  answered  Bernart, 
"  though  I  thought  she  left  Beaucaire  a  week  before 
you  arrived.  Rest  assured  you  will  some  day  find  the 
lady,  whoever  she  may  be,  and  perhaps  you  may  sing 
a  song  to  please  her.  That  reminds  me,"  exclaimed 
the  troubadour,  "  I  have  not  heard  you  for  near  a 
year.  Then  your  voice  was  beginning  to  change, 
and  you  were  singing  treble,  alto,  tenor,  and  bass  by 
turns." 

108 


THE  ROSY  CITY 

"  What  shall  I  give  you?  "  asked  Raimbaut,  laugh- 
ing at  the  description  of  his  voice. 

"  Sing  anything  you  like,"  replied  the  troubadour, 
"  if  it  be  not  of  my  own  making.  By  this  time  you 
should  have  written  something  of  your  own." 

"Alas!"  said  Raimbaut,  "I  have  not  yet  been 
inspired.  I  heard  a  new  chanson  of  the  Count  of 
Bern's  at  Narbonne  and  I  will  do  my  best  with  it.  A 
foolish  joglar  begged  him  for  a  fresh  song  which 
would  make  him  certain  of  a  welcome  wherever  he 
wandered.  These  are  the  words  the  bitter  knight 
sent  him." 

Raimbaut  touched  his  lute  and  sang,  — 

"  With  strident  voice  you  make  pretence  of  song ; 
(    You're  like  a  Moor,  so  ugly  is  your  face ; 
You  spoil  your  tale,  'tis  tedious  and  too  long; 
To  call  you  singer  would  the  name  disgrace. 
Whene'er  you  smile,  you  seem  but  to  grimace ; 
Come  not  to  me  lest  I  should  do  you  wrong ! 
I  send  these  lines  and  bid  you  pass  along !  " 

The  troubadour  listened  critically,  his  head  on  one 
side  and  his  mouth  pursed  in  a  judicial  fashion.  He 
laughed  a  little  at  Bertrand's  grim  humor,  but  was 
plainly  more  interested  in  Raimbaut  himself,  and  he 
congratulated  him  heartily. 

"  Your  voice  is  not  quite  changed.  Some  will  call 
it  tenor  and  some  baritone  —  and  they  will  both  be 
right.  You  have  temperament  enough  to  give  it  full 
expression,  and  all  you  need  is  confidence  and  prac- 
tice. Believe  me  when  I  say  you  should  become  a 
troubadour  beyond  compare.  Above  all  things,  use 

109 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

your  voice  carefully,  for  a  young  voice  is  like  a  young 
horse:  if  too  early  saddled  and  hard  ridden,  it  spoils 
him  for  a  fast  race  or  a  long  journey.  Now  for  your 
plans.  Raimon's  final  consent  to  accept  you  as  his 
squire  depends  on  how  you  please  him.  You  already 
have  your  sword,  and  your  adventure  at  Courthezon 
will  not  harm  you." 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  sure  of  this,"  declared  Raim- 
baut.  "  I  confess,  although  I  have  no  regrets  con- 
cerning the  killing  of  the  wolf-hound,  I  am  ashamed 
that  I  stayed  not  to  face  my  over-lord.  He  was 
amazingly  kind  to  me,  and  I  have  often  wondered 
what  was  the  secret  he  was  prepared  to  tell.  If 
I  thought  I  might  learn  about  my  mother,  I  would 
go  back  to  Courthezon,  no  matter  what  the  dan- 
ger." 

'  Tut!  "  said  Bernart.  "  I  believe  you  will  find 
Toulouse  a  safer  place  in  which  to  dwell.  Tell  me 
first  what  is  your  ambition?  Do  you  choose  to  be  a 
knight  or  a  troubadour?  " 

"  I  am  in  doubt  about  many  things, "  replied  Raim- 
baut.  "  I  love  most  a  life  of  song,  yet  must  I  win  my 
golden  spurs  that  I  may  have  the  right  to  meet  my 
father's  enemy,  and  read  the  secret  of  the  Book  of 
Hours.  Stronger  than  all  else  there  is  a  desire  that 
there  may  some  time  come  into  my  heart  a  Perfect 
Love.  Of  this  I  often  dream,  and  in  search  of  it  my 
life  is  a  constant  quest." 

As  Raimbaut  spoke,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his  eyes 
brightened  and  his  face  glowed  with  enthusiasm. 

1 10 


THE  ROSY  CITY 

Bernart  listened  with  a  smile  in  which  sympathy  and 
amusement  were  mingled. 

"  Indeed,"  said  he,  "  do  you  hope  to  accomplish  all 
these  things  in  one  short  life?  I  would  not  take  from 
you  the  glamour  of  a  single  dream,  yet  I  have  learned 
from  sad  experience  how  necessary  it  is  to  keep  one's 
foot  upon  the  earth,  and  not  trust  to  wings  alone.  If 
you  wish  to  be  a  knight,  you  must  not  stay  long  at 
Toulouse.  There  is  no  nobleman  in  the  world  with 
such  a  heritage  of  glory  as  Raimon  of  Toulouse,  but  a 
nearly  fatal  injury  in  the  lists,  when  he  was  scarce  a 
man  grown,  has  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  follow 
the  example  of  his  ancestors.  It  is  for  this  reason 
that  he  opposes  war  except  as  a  last  resort,  and  has 
set  his  face  against  any  combat  in  the  lists.  He  cares 
not  for  young  men  eager  to  excel  in  battle  and  tourna- 
ment, but  loves  a  youth  who  can  sing  his  own  song 
with  a  mellow  voice." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Raimbaut  despairingly,  "  that 
I  cannot  please  him,  for  I  have  written  nothing  of 
my  own.'' 

"  They  will  come  in  good  time,  I  have  no  doubt," 
said  Bernart  encouragingly.  "  I  believe  the  Count 
will  accept  you,  and  that  if  you  dwell  here  with  me, 
it  will  not  be  long  before  you  become  a  finder  of  song. 
You  must  know  that  this  is  called  the  Tower  of 
Nightingales,  for  rarely  is  it  without  the  sound  of 
melody.  There  are  four  squires  who  will  be  your  com- 
panions, every  one  of  whom  will  some  day  be  famous ; 
and  with  them  at  hand  Count  Raimon  never  lacks  a 

in 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

good  singer  nor  a  new  song.  They  have  all  taken  to 
the  field,  falcon  on  wrist,  but  to-night  they  will  return. 
This  reminds  me  that  I  must  finish  the  new  chanson 
I  am  planning  to  sing  after  supper.  With  the 
Countess  Ermengarda  as  a  listener,  I  must  be  doubly 
careful  in  my  preparation,  for  she  is  a  critic  who 
possesses  a  sharp  tongue,  and  is  not  afraid  to  use  it. 
She  has  a  keen  scent  for  a  false  note  or  a  weak  meta- 
phor, and  can  follow  a  plagiarism  as  unerringly  as  my 
master's  best  hound  pursues  a  red  deer  to  its  death. 
She  has  an  aggravating  manner  when  she  turns  her 
head  and  says,  —  '  Well  done,  my  dear  Bernart !  A 
good  idea  and  well  expressed;  but  Jaufre  Rudel  had 
the  same  thought  some  twenty  years  ago,  and  told  it 
better.'  " 

The  troubadour  had  barely  taken  his  lute  in  his 
hand  when  there  was  a  great  clatter,  and  Raimbaut, 
rushing  to  the  window,  looked  down  upon  a  crowd 
of  knights,  ladies,  squires,  pages,  and  varlets. 
Horses  were  being  led  to  the  stables,  and  dogs  were 
yelping  and  dodging  between  their  heels.  From  the 
kitchen  came  the  odor  of  meats  browning  on  the 
spits,  and  savory  dishes  simmering  in  the  kettles. 
Everybody  was  talking  who  was  not  laughing,  and 
some  were  doing  both  at  the  same  time.  Here  a 
wager  was  being  settled,  the  loser  declaring  loudly 
that  he  still  believed  his  was  the  better  bird,  as  he 
would  prove  at  the  next  meeting. 

Raimbaut  was  lost  in  wonder  and  admiration  at 
the  restless  throng  with  its  bright  colors,  its  gaiety, 

112 


THE  ROSY  CITY 

and  its  abandon.  He  did  not  hear  the  sound  of 
hurrying  footsteps,  and  did  not  turn  from  the  win- 
dow, until  the  door  swung  open,  and  a  young  squire, 
slamming  it  quickly  behind  him,  placed  his  shoulder 
against  it.  For  a  full  minute  he  held  the  door  in 
spite  of  repeated  assaults  upon  it,  and  when  he 
was  forced  back,  three  other  squires  came  surging 
through  like  water  over  a  broken  dam.  As  soon  as 
Raimbaut  was  discovered,  some  degree  of  decorum 
prevailed,  and  Bernart,  with  an  assumption  of  great 
courtliness,  said,  — 

"  Messire  Raimbaut  of  Vacqueiras,  these  four 
subdued  gentlemen  are  squires  of  Count  Raimon, 
who  dwell  with  me  in  this  tower.  Allow  me  to 
introduce  to  you,  first,  Messire  Bonifaz  of  Monfer- 
rat.  He  is  as  brave  as  Ronald,  and  comes  to  Tou- 
louse to  perfect  himself  in  the  manners  of  a  refined 
court,  yet  sometimes  he  turns  restive  and  rides 
away  to  a  "  man's  game  of  breaking  lances.'  ' 

'  Yes,"  interrupted  a  tall  young  man,  dark  and 
handsome,  "  Messire  Bonifaz  shows  how  little  he 
has  learned  of  manners  by  the  way  he  rushes  up  the 
stairs,  and  keeps  his  betters  waiting  on  the  landing." 

As  Bernart  spoke,  Bonifaz  greeted  Raimbaut  so 
cordially  that  the  latter's  heart  went  out  to  him  as 
did  David's  to  Jonathan.  There  flashed  upon  the 
lonely  lad  from  Vacqueiras  the  certainty  that  he 
had  found  at  last  the  comrade  for  whom  his  heart 
had  long  been  hungering. 

Scarcely  as  tall  as  Raimbaut,   Bonifaz  had  the 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

chest  and  shoulders  of  an  Ajax.  His  face,  with  its 
stern,  irregular  features,  was  bright  with  the  light  of 
friendliness,  and  their  meeting  was  like  the  coming 
together  of  companions  long  separated. 

"  I  will  next  introduce  Messire  Folquet  from 
Marseille,"  continued  Bernart.  "  He  is  our  best 
scholar.  He  reads  many  languages,  pores  over  old 
volumes,  and  talks  seldom;  also,  he  has  an  over- 
active  conscience,  which  is  forever  asking  whether 
an  action  be  right  or  wrong.  He  sings  better  than 
Bonifaz,  and  he  writes  songs  as  polished  as  those  of 
Daniel  himself." 

"  It  is  all  very  true,"  declared  Bonifaz,  "  and  he 
never  is  a  half-tone  flat,  an  offence  of  which  I  am 
often  guilty." 

"  And  yet,"  interposed  the  tall  young  squire 
again,  "  this  same  Folquet  will  be  naught  but  a 
carpet-knight,  for  he  wears  armor  as  if  it  were  a 
burden,  and  he  is  afraid  he  will  cut  himself  with  the 
edge  of  his  own  sword." 

"  And  here,"  said  Bernart,  "  is  the  retiring  young 
gentleman  who  has  twice  interrupted  me  —  Messire 
Miraval.  He  knows  less  than  Folquet,  but  talks 
twice  as  much.  He  makes  not  as  good  songs,  but 
more  of  them.  He  will  sit  him  down  and  for  a 
wager  rhyme  you  off  a  hundred  fair  lines  within 
the  hour.  He  pretends  he  cares  not  for  the  Gay 
Science,  and  laughs  at  others  when  they  sing;  but 
practises  in  secret.  He  borrows  money,  and  when 
he  needs  a  horse,  saddles  that  of  his  neighbor. 

114 


THE  ROSY  CITY 

He  has  his  love-affairs,  and  thinks  all  women  desire 
him." 

Although  Bernart  spoke  so  directly,  and  with  not 
a  little  sting  to  his  words,  Messire  Miraval  was  not 
the  least  disconcerted  as  he  saluted  Raimbaut  with 
an  air  of  graceful  patronage.  It  was  evident  enough 
that  he  was  not  a  favorite  with  the  old  troubadour, 
and  yet  Raimbaut  was  quite  prepared  to  like  him. 

'  Youngest  of  all  is  Guilhem  from  Cabestaing. 
His  lord  is  the  surly  Count  of  Roussillon,  and  Guil- 
hem's  castle  looks  out  over  the  marshes  to  the  blue 
Mediterranean.  He  is  our  best  singer.  When 
his  companions  disagree,  it  is  Guilhem  who  acts  as 
peacemaker.  He  has  just  been  given  his  sword, 
of  which  he  is  very  proud,  and  which  is  nearly 
as  tall  as  himself." 

Although  his  home  was  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Pyrenees,  Guilhem's  face  was  fair  and  his  eyes  as 
blue  as  the  sky.  He  was  a  chubby  lad,  who,  with 
his  first  smile,  found  a  place  in  Raimbaut's  heart. 

"Alas!",  exclaimed  Bernart,  '  I  almost  forgot  to 
introduce  my  good  friend  Jacques,  '  Knight  of  the 
Mill,'  the  best  tumbler  in  all  Provence.  I  would 
rather  have  his  supple  body  than  the  voice  of  the 
finest  singer  of  you  all." 

Jacques  received  a  cordial  welcome  from  all  but 
Miraval,  who  did  not  fail  to  show  that  introduction 
to  a  joglar  was  distasteful  to  him." 

"  And  now,"  declared  Bernart,  "it  is  time  to 
prepare  for  supper.  I  am  reminded  that  Messire 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

Raimbaut  has  nothing  but  the  clothes  he  wears, 
having  travelled  faster  than  his  store  of  apparel.  I 
have  known  an  ill-fitting  tunic  to  spoil  a  good  song, 
and  a  nice  taste  in  color  to  make  the  reputation  of  a 
poor  singer.  I  do  not  intend  to  present  Raimbaut 
to  our  master  to-night;  yet  even  if  he  sits  at  the 
table  of  the  travellers,  he  cannot  appear  like  this." 

Hereupon  all  the  squires  were  eager  in  their 
proffers  and  Raimbaut  was  free  to  choose  what  he 
would.  It  was  evident  enough  that  Guilhem's 
clothes  were  too  small,  and  Miraval's  too  long. 
Bonifaz  settled  the  matter  by  rushing  upstairs  and 
returning  almost  immediately. 

"  Is  it  not  fortunate!"  he  cried.  "I  have  here 
a  costume  which  the  careless  tailor  made  too  tight 
for  me.  I  can  never  wear  it,  and  I  am  sure  it  will 
fit  Messire  Raimbaut  as  well  as  if  it  were  cut  for 
him." 

He  laid  on  the  couch  a  robe  of  straw-colored  linen 
from  Bruges,  with  breeches  to  match  and  silk  stock- 
ings of  the  same  shade.  The  tunic  was  of  darker 
samite,  embroidered  at  wrist  and  hem  with  golden 
threads,  and  cut  in  a  pattern  of  arabesque,  through 
which  the  lighter  shade  of  the  robe  could  be  plainly 
seen.  The  mantle  was  a  golden  brown  of  soft  woollen 
stuff,  fastened  at  the  throat  by  a  carved  button. 
Raimbaut  had  never  possessed  anything  half  so 
beautiful.  When  the  squires  had  hurried  to  their 
rooms  overhead,  he  removed  the  stains  of  travel, 
and  dressed  with  Jacques'  assistance  and  Bernart's 

116 


THE  ROSY  CITY 

advice.  The  latter  suggested  some  changes  which 
could  be  made  by  the  tailor,  but  the  costume  suited 
Raimbaut  wonderfully  well,  and  he  felt  like  a  prince. 

Bernart  was  busying  himself  with  his  own  ward- 
robe, taking  infinite  pains  with  each  article  of  cloth- 
ing, when  he  saw  Raimbaut  hang  his  mantle  on  the 
wall  and  draw  his  dagger. 

"No!  No!"  exclaimed  the  troubadour.  "You 
would  not  spoil  this  beautiful  garment?  Keep  the 
spirit  of  your  vow,  but  do  not  mutilate  the  gift  of 
Bonifaz." 

"  I  must,"  replied  Raimbaut.  "  I  have  sworn  to 
wear  always  a  severed  mantle,  to  remind  me  that  I 
must  live  a  life  of  purity  and  love,  like  good  Saint 
Martin." 

"  And  yet,"  declared  Bernart,  "  it  is  only  the  good 
living  that  is  important.  Believe  me,  you  will  appear 
uncouth  here  in  Toulouse  where  vows  are  held  lightly 
if  they  be  not  made  to  some  fair  lady. " 

At  this  Raimbaut  was  greatly  troubled,  and  fora 
long  time  tye  stood  by  the  window  looking  out  over  the 
river.  His  thoughts  were  far  away  with  Peirol,  sit- 
ting sullen  and  solitary  in  the  castle  of  Vacqueiras,  and 
with  Anselme  on  his  knees  before  the  altar.  He  saw 
a  lad  clinging  to  the  bending  branches  on  the  sharp 
crag  of  the  Devil's  Tooth.  Every  thought,  every 
emotion  came  back  to  him :  he  heard  the  voice  of  the 
good  priest,  and  he  remembered  every  word  of  his  vow 
as  he  slashed  his  rough  mantle  from  collar  to  hem  with 
his  dagger.  When  at  last  he  turned  to  the  trouba- 

"7 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

dour,  his  face  shone  as  one  who  had  seen  a  vision. 
His  voice  was  very  calm,  but  full  of  suppressed 
emotion  as  he  said,  - 

"  I  would  not  seem  ungracious,  yet  I  must  sever  a 
piece  from  this  mantle,  for  the  sake  of  my  soul's  sal- 
vation. I  can  do  naught  else." 


CHAPTER  X 

A   MEADOW   LARK 

THE  seneschal  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief,  for 
his  evening's  task  was  nearly  completed;  and  he  was 
looking  forward  to  a  quiet  bottle  in  his  own  snug 
room.  He  had  seen  many  processions  of  well-filled 
dishes  march  in  from  the  kitchen,  and  retreat  a  little 
later  in  dire  disorder.  From  the  roast  venison  with 
sauce  poivrade  to  the  last  course  of  pastry  and  con- 
fectionery, everything  had  received  commendation. 
The  seneschal  had  known  that  the  wild  boar  was  a 
trifle  tough,  and  he  had  been  fearful  that  the  over- 
ripeness  of  the  peacocks  would  be  discovered.  He 
had  escaped  blame,  however,  for  the  guests  had  been 
too  hungry  to  find  fault  with  the  boar,  which  came 
early,  and  the  peacocks  had  been  skilfully  doctored 
with  a  dressing  warranted  to  disguise  any  flavor  but 
its  own.  .t 

The  guests  were  contentedly  munching  their  hot 
cloves  and  sugared  ginger,  inciting  them  to  frequent 
visits  to  the  goblets  by  their  elbows,  and  the  senes- 
chal, standing  behind  his  master's  chair,  twirled  his 
thumbs  over  his  round  paunch,  well-satisfied,  and  at 
peace  with  all  the  world. 

It  was  a  famous  room,  this  great  hall  built  of  hewn 
stones  quarried  in  the  Pyrenees.  It  was  large  enough 
to  hold  with  comfort  three  hundred  guests.  The 

119 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

groined  ceiling  was  supported  by  high  arches  which 
gave  it  an  air  of  grace  and  dignity,  and  the  pave- 
ment of  mosaic  was  strewn  with  flowers.  Most  beau- 
tiful of  all  were  the  rare  tapestries  of  Poitou,  on  which 
were  pictured  the  deeds  of  Ronald,  ending  with  his 
death  at  Roncesvalles.  On  the  walls  were  hung  many 
noble  weapons  and  pieces  of  armor.  In  the  place  of 
honor  were  the  swords  of  Raimon's  four  predecessors, 
Guilhem  IV,  Raimon  IV,  Bertran,  and  Alfonse- 
Jourdain,  who  had  all  fought  with  the  Cross  upon 
their  breasts. 

In  other  castles  the  breeze  might  filter  through 
narrow  embrasures,  but  here  at  Toulouse  the  broad 
river  was  ample  protection,  and  there  was  plenty  of 
air  coming  through  the  wide-latticed  windows  which 
looked  out  over  the  water. 

That  hour  had  now  arrived  which  Raimon  loved 
best  of  the  twenty-four,  the  hour  when  he  could  gaze 
down  the  long  hall  and  catch  the  eye  of  this  or  that 
man  ready  with  a  good  song  or  a  clever  story. 

The  Count's  table  was  on  a  low  dais  which  lifted  it 
above  the  level  of  the  floor  where  sat  the  retainers 
and  less  important  guests.  The  squires  had  a  small 
table  so  near  that  of  their  master  that  they  could 
assist  him  whenever  he  was  in  need  of  their  services. 
Musicians  had  been  playing  intermittently  through- 
out the  supper,  but  at  a  signal  from  the  seneschal  they 
now  laid  their  instruments  aside.  The  silence  was 
broken  only  by  the  footsteps  of  the  varlets  disappear- 
ing with  the  dishes,  and  the  strident  words  of  Ermen- 

120 


A  MEADOW  LARK 

garda.  She  was  speaking  with  much  authority  to 
the  Count  in  praise  of  Daniel. 

"  He  is  unquestionably  our  greatest  singer.  Any- 
body can  make  simple  verse  inspired  by  sentiment, 
but  when  a  man  gives  you  major  and  minor  rhymes  in 
every  line,  not  one  word  of  which  he  really  believes, 
then  you  have  something  worth  while!  " 

The  good  Count  listened  with  a  ghost  of  a  smile  on 
his  pale  face.  He  was  too  wise  to  start  an  argu- 
ment with  the  Countess,  though  he  quite  disagreed 
with  her.  His  features  were  finely  chiselled,  his  face 
was  fair,  his  eyes  blue,  and  his  dark  hair  touched  with 
gray  over  the  temples.  Slight  was  he  and  small, 
although  he  sat  on  his  high  fauteuil  with  a  dignity 
which  concealed  his  lack  of  stature.  The  richest 
ruler  in  Christendom,  his  love  was  for  the  beautiful. 
Indeed,  the  hand  which  played  listlessly  with  a  scroll 
on  the  table  had  not  the  strength  to  wield  a  sword. 

A  strange  contrast  was  his  companion.  Though 
the  Countess  Ermengarda  was  a  delver  in  books,  a 
kind  patron  of  the  Gay  Science,  and  no  mean  judge 
of  songs  and  singers,  she  had  the  figure  of  a  peasant- 
woman  who  labores  all  day  among  the  vines,  and  the 
complexion  of  one  who  cuts  wheat  on  the  hillside. 
The  dark  hair,  carelessly  arranged,  was  plentifully 
streaked  with  gray,  and  Time  had  set  tell-tale  wrinkles 
in  her  face.  Only  her  eyes  were  beautiful. 

At  Raimon's  left  was  seated  the  blonde  Countess 
of  Polignac.  To  her  belonged  the  loveliness  which 
comes  to  the  flower  for  a  single  day  when  every 

121 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

petal  is  at  its  best.  Neither  too  young  for  experi- 
ence, nor  too  old  for  ardor,  she  was  talking  under 
her  breath  to  the  handsome  Bishop  of  Saint  Sernin, 
confident  of  her  charms  which  were  so  lavishly 
displayed. 

Her  husband,  the  fierce  Count  Heraclius,  had 
been  placed  between  Ermengarda  and  Alazais.  He 
was  doing  his  best  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  the 
latter.  His  black  beard  was  closely  trimmed,  and 
his  hair  had  received  far  more  attention  than  that 
of  the  Countess  of  Narbonne.  About  his  temples, 
however,  were  the  bare  patches  showing  the  marks 
of  his  helmet;  and  try  as  he  might  to  soften  his 
tones,  his  voice  was  harsh  and  discordant.  He  was 
telling  a  story,  half-jocular,  half-malicious,  about  the 
Countess  and  a  designing  joglar,  and  Alazais  could 
not  restrain  her  smiles,  little  as  she  approved  either 
the  tale  or  its  teller. 

It  was  not  often  that  the  pretty  demoiselle  allowed 
herself  to  laugh,  for  she  took  life  seriously.  Her 
mother  being  a  Queen,  and  her  father  the  most 
powerful  noble  of  Southern  France,  her  life  had 
been  surrounded  with  luxury  and  adulation.  It  had 
not  spoiled  her,  however,  but  left  her  calmly  con- 
scious of  her  obligation  toward  herself  and  toward 
the  world  about  her.  She  could  not  speak  thought- 
lessly nor  act  lightly,  as  could  a  maiden  of  lesser 
degree.  Barely  sixteen  years  old,  and  newly  be- 
trothed to  the  Count  of  Beziers,  she  looked  forward 
contentedly  to  a  marriage  of  state.  Inheriting  her 

122 


A  MEADOW  LARK 

father's  transparent  complexion,  she  was  like  a 
white  rosebud  on  which  the  dew  glistened.  Her 
eyes  were  bright  and  her  hair  like  spun  gold. 

Bernart  sat  at  the  corner  of  the  table  where  he 
could  catch  his  lord's  eye,  and  see  each  singer  as  he 
approached.  He  was  also  in  a  position  whence  he 
could  watch  the  tumbling  and  the  sleight-of-hand 
of  the  joglars.  To  this  little  attention  was  paid  by 
the  guests  of  noble  blood,  the  space  allotted  for  these 
performances  being  closer  to  the  centre  of  the  long 
table,  where  sat  the  men-at-arms,  the  servitors,  and 
those  of  low  degree. 

Bernart  did  not  fail  to  notice  when  a  round-faced 
little  joglar  appeared,  clad  in  the  robe  of  a  mendi- 
cant friar.  He  wore  a  grey  beard  so  false  that  it 
made  no  attempt  to  deceive.  When  he  entered,  he 
pretended  to  trip  over  his  long  gown  and  fell  sprawl- 
ing on  the  floor.  Then,  rising  to  his  feet,  he  rubbed 
his  elbow  ruefully,  and  began  to  examine  with  great 
anxiety  the  basket  of  eggs  which  he  carried  on  his 
arm.  Finding  none  of  them  were  broken,  the 
expression  of  solicitude  on  his  face  gave  place  to  a 
broad  smile  which  revealed  the  loss  of  two  front 
teeth.  So  cleverly  had  he  acted  his  part,  that  he 
had  already  caught  the  attention  of  his  audience;  so 
contagious  was  the  smile  that  it  won  the  good-will 
of  every  one,  and  the  applause  was  loud  and  the 
laughter  hearty.  Then  the  little  friar,  growing  seri- 
ous, took  egg  after  egg  from  his  basket  and  pre- 
tended to  swallow  them,  after  which  he  seemed  to 

123 


THE  SEVERED   MANTLE 

draw  from  between  his  lips  five  eggs,  which  he  put 
carefully  back  in  the  basket.  Next  appeared  a  small 
chicken,  followed  by  a  full-grown  hen  which  flapped 
her  wings  and  flew  down  the  hall  toward  the  open 
door,  clucking  frantically.  At  the  appearance  of 
the  chicken,  the  friar  feigned  surprise,  followed  by 
fear  at  the  loud  noise  of  the  hen ;  but  when  he  drew 
forth  with  great  difficulty  a  lean  black  cat,  he  gave 
a  cry  of  horror.  He  started  to  run,  tripped,  and 
fell  at  the  third  step. 

For  a  moment  only  he  lay  on  the  floor,  and  when 
he  rose,  he  had  discarded  the  brown  habit  and 
appeared,  like  a  butterfly  from  its  chrysalis,  clad  in 
a  parti-colored  costume  of  red  and  yellow,  which  re- 
vealed the  lithe  figure  and  the  supple  limbs  of  Jacques. 

Then,  bowing  right  and  left  to  his  audience  in 
acknowledgement  of  the  applause,  he  tossed  all  the 
eggs  from  the  basket  until  the  whole  five  were  rising 
and  falling,  caught  deftly,  and  sent  again  and  again 
on  their  continuous  flight.  Last  of  all,  he  discarded 
his  tunic,  and  gave  an  exhibition  of  tumbling  which 
was  without  flaw.  There  seemed  no  feat  of  agility 
too  difficult  for  the  pliant  young  body.  When  he 
finished  his  performance,  Jacques  of  the  Mill  had 
won  his  reputation  as  a  joglar  of  the  first  rank.  As 
he  stood  bowing  and  smiling,  he  received  a  shower  of 
coins  which  jingled  merrily  about  him,  and  when  he 
retired,  the  basket  on  his  arm  was  heavy  with  the 
largess  which  he  had  won.  The  squires  had  joined 
loudly  in  the  applause,  and  Bonifaz  had  thrown  a 

124 


A   MEADOW  LARK 

silver  coin  half  the  length  of  the  hall  straight  into 
Jacques's  waiting  palm. 

After  Jacques  had  made  his  last  low  bow,  many  of 
the  servitors  and  men-at-arms  took  their  departure. 
With  the  noise  of  their  retreating  footsteps  there 
was  a  lull  in  the  conversation  at  the  Count's  table. 
In  the  silence  that  followed,  Raimon  bent  forward 
and  addressed  Heraclius,  — 

"  Come,  my  dear  Count,  I  know  your  voice  has  not 
lost  its  melody,  nor  your  hand  its  cunning.  Will  you 
be  the  next  to  sing  for  us?  " 

There  was  a  little  flutter  of  anticipation,  all  eyes 
being  turned  to  the  Count  of  Polignac,  but  he  shook 
his  head. 

"  You  have  heard  my  only  song  a  dozen  times.  If 
you  were  not  too  polite  to  tell  the  truth,  you  would 
confess  yourself  as  weary  of  this  as  of  the  songs  with 
which  Bernart  has  lulled  you  to  sleep  every  night  for 
a  score  of  years.  Even  lyrics  of  these  fine  lads,  your 
squires,  must  have  somewhat  lost  their  flavor.  In 
verity,  what  you  and  all  the  world  desire  is  a  new  song 
and  a  fresh  voice." 

At  this  rough  speech,  so  characteristic  of  Heracliusr 
the  squires  were  plainly  nettled,  and  even  Bernart's 
cheek  flushed.  Well  did  the  Count  of  Polignac  know 
how  to  find  the  joints  in  a  man's  armor  of  self-love  I 
Only  Raimon  seemed  quite  unmoved,  as  he  replied 
with  a  quiet  smile,  — 

1  You  speak  heresy,  my  brave  Count.     We  believe 
here  in  Toulouse  that  a  fully  ripened  voice  is  like 

125 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

matured  wine:  rawness  has  disappeared  and  aroma 
has  become  perfect  with  age.  A  good  song  is  like  a  dia- 
mond, which  neither  wears  out  nor  dims  with  time." 

"  And  yet,"  answered  Bernart,  speaking  formally 
and  with  a  low  bow,  "  perhaps  we  can  gratify  the 
wish  for  variety.  I  have  with  me  to-night  the  son  of 
an  old  friend,  whose  voice  you  have  never  heard.  He 
sang  for  me  this  afternoon  a  song  of  the  Count  of  Born 
which  I  am  sure  is  new  to  you.  I  can  furnish  the 
fresh  voice  and  the  new  song.  Though  the  lad  is  not 
accustomed  to  so  large  an  audience,  I  will  run  the 
risk  of  failure.  Will  you  excuse  his  simple  manner 
and  untrained  voice  for  the  sake  of  novelty?  " 

There  were  cries  of  assent,  whereupon  Raimon,  who 
had  enjoyed  the  encounter  of  wit  between  Herac- 
lius  and  Bernart,  turned  to  the  former  with  a  smile 
and  asked, — 

"  What  say  you?     Shall  we  try  the  lad?  " 

"  'T  is  seldom  that  a  green  archer  hits  the  shield  at 
his  first  attempt,"  replied  Heraclius  gruffly.  "  Yet 
anything  is  better  than  Bernart's  songs  and  mine." 

Raimbaut,  seated  next  Jacques  close  by  the  door, 
had  been  unable  either  to  see  or  hear  much  at  the  high 
table.  All  the  evening  he  had  been  absent-minded 
and  abstracted.  It  was  only  when  Raimon  began  to 
speak  that  he  understood  a  word,  and  when  Bernart 
beckoned  to  him,  he  rose  mechanically,  stunned  at 
the  unexpected  summons.  Usually  ready  and  self- 
possessed,  he  never  knew  how  he  reached  the  open 
space  by  the  hearth.  His  first  conscious  moment  was 

126 


A  MEADOW  LARK 

when  Jacques,  who  had  hurried  to  Bernart's  room, 
returned  with  the  lute,  and  placed  it  in  his  listless 
hand.  Yet  he  bowed  not  ungracefully  when  presented 
as  "  Raimbaut  of  Vacqueiras,  son  of  Peirol." 

At  this  a  hum  of  interest  ran  through  the  hall. 
Peirol  was  known  throughout  Provence,  and  loved 
for  his  courage  and  high  spirits.  Those  were  very 
friendly  faces  that  turned  towards  Raimbaut  as  he 
stood  alone,  his  graceful  figure  framed  by  the  carved 
stone-work  of  the  mantel.  Yet  he  had  not  recovered 
from  his  surprise  or  regained  his  self-possession.  His 
confusion  made  him  an  object  of  sympathy  to  all  but 
Heraclius. 

"  It  is  unfortunate,"  said  the  knight,  "  that  the  boy 
lacks  courage,  the  only  good  quality  which  his  father 
ever  possessed.  He  looks  like  a  bird,  fresh-caged, 
that  can  only  open  his  mouth,  but  cannot  sing." 

The  Count  spoke  with  a  sneer  on  his  face  and  a 
tone  of  mockery  in  his  voice,  which  he  expected  would 
increase  the  boy's  shyness.  At  the  challenge,  how- 
ever, there  came  a  transformation  over  Raimbaut. 
The  knight  of  Polignac  had  all  unwittingly  furnished 
the  only  spur  that  could  put  motion  into  Raimbaut's 
numb  spirit.  He  recovered  himself  on  the  instant, 
and,  looking  straight  into  the  Count's  hawk-like  eyes, 
struck  one  bold  staccato  chord  on  his  lute,  and  began 
to  sing. 

At  the  first  note  Count  Raimon  straightened  him- 
self in  his  seat,  Ermengarda  began  to  nod  her  head 
approvingly,  and  every  knight  and  lady  listened 

127 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

intently  until  the  last  note  died  away.  Although 
the  voice  lacked  training,  it  was  rich  and  sympathetic ; 
it  held  every  one  as  with  a  spell.  The  applause  which 
followed  was  loud  and  hearty.  There  were  calls  for 
more;  the  demand  was  so  unmistakable  that  Count 
Raimon,  after  a  few  words  of  praise,  asked  for  another 
song. 

Then  Raimbaut  gave  them  a  chanson  which  Ber- 
nart  had  sung  to  him  long  ago,  when  he  lay  ill  with 
a  fever  in  his  room  at  Vacqueiras.  It  was  the  song 
of  a  brook,  a  simple  thing  of  two-score  lines  only. 
Bernart  had  sung  it  over  and  over,  finding  it  soothed 
the  little  fellow  tossing  on  his  hot  pillow.  Through 
some  freak  of  memory,  it  came  back  to  Raimbaut 
to-night.  It  was  full  of  the  ripple  of  cool  waters 
through  meadow  grasses  and  bending  reeds.  Raim- 
baut sang  it  so  softly  that  every  one  held  his  breath, 
and  it  was  called  for  again  and  again. 

As  the  boy  stood,  his  face  flushed  with  excite- 
ment, on  the  very  wave  of  success,  it  occurred  to 
Bernart  that  he  could  find  no  better  time  to  arrange 
a  place  for  him  at  the  good  Count's  court;  so  he 
spoke  up  boldly  in  a  lull  of  the  applause. 

"  If  my  lord  pardon  me,  I  will  remind  him  that 
this  is  the  lad  concerning  whom  I  won  a  half- 
promise  that  he  should  be  made  a  squire.  He  has 
a  wonderful  knowledge  of  the  songs  of  Provence  and 
his  voice  will  improve  under  my  training.  Though 
he  has  not  yet  found  any  verse  of  his  own,  I  have 
no  doubt  he  will  soon  do  so,  for  he  has  imagination, 

128 


A  MEADOW  LARK 

and  has  been  taught  by  a  learned  priest.  I 
hope  he  has  won  my  lord's  favor  and  that  he  may 
be  granted  the  petition  which  he  joins  me  in  pre- 
senting." 

Bernart  made  the  request  with  a  confidence  based 
on  a  thorough  understanding  of  his  master's  mind. 
The  latter  was  about  to  give  his  assent,  when 
Ermengarda,  who  had  all  along  looked  with  un- 
friendly eyes  upon  Raimbaut,  interposed :  — 

"  The  lad  has  shown  us  a  handsome  face  and 
a  sweet  voice,  but  has  given  no  proof  that  he 
will  ever  be  a  troubadour.  To  win  a  place  so 
close  to  the  greatest  patron  of  the  art  to  which 
we  are  all  devoted,  he  should  first  find  a  song  of 
his  own." 

At  this  unexpected  opposition,  Bernart  flushed 
with  anger.  He  was  about  to  speak  when  Heraclius, 
who  was  in  an  ugly  mood,  added,  — 

"  The  Countess  is  right.  Here  are  Messires 
Bonifaz,  Miraval,  Folquet  and  Guilhem,  any  one  of 
whom  could  write  for  us  three-score  fair  lines  within 
the  hour.  If  this  lad  who  has  wandered  down 
from  the  rocks  of  Vacqueiras  would  win  a  place  by 
their  side,  let  him,  in  the  name  of  the  Gay  Science, 
show  us  something  to  prove  his  worth.  What 
think  you,  Alazais?  It  will  not  be  long  before  the 
troubadours  of  Provence  will  be  choosing  so  fair  a 
chatelaine  for  their  Lady-of- Praise." 

"  The  boy  should  certainly  be  given  some  test," 
replied  Alazais,  "  yet  he  is  weary  with  travel,  and 

129 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

has  had  no  time  for  preparation.  Let  him  sing  for 
us  later,  when  he  has  become  accustomed  to  his 
surroundings  and  has  acquired  confidence." 

"Confidence,  say  you!"  exclaimed  Ermengarda. 
"  This  is  the  same  lad  we  met  at  Beaucaire.  Marry! 
He  has  assurance  enough !  We  need  make  no  allow- 
ances for  his  embarassment.  Let  him  sing  for  us  a 
song  of  his  own  making!  How  many  lines  shall  it 
be?  Shall  we  say  sixty?" 

Bonifaz,  whose  sympathy  was  strongly  with 
Raimbaut,  said,  — 

"  No  one  of  us,  save  Miraval,  could  write  the  sixty 
lines.  The  test  is  certainly  beyond  my  powers." 

"  Indeed,"  declared  Count  Raimon,  to  whom  the 
little  controversy  was  vastly  interesting,  "  the  matter 
of  choosing  my  squire  seems  to  be  taken  completely 
out  of  my  hands.  I  thank  you  all.  May  I  sug- 
gest that  we  dignify  the  affair  by  a  formal  test, 
leaving  the  decision  to  the  Countess  Ermengarda 
and  my  daughter  Alazais?  Yet  as  these  ladies 
have  already  shown  signs  of  prejudice,  shall  we  not 
ask  the  fair  Countess  of  Polignac  to  sit  with  them 
in  judgment?  " 

This  suggestion  was  received  with  great  enthu- 
siasm. Ermengarda,  taking  the  initiative  as  if 
by  right,  turned  patronizingly  to  Raimbaut  and 
said,  — 

"  How  old  are  you,  my  lad?  " 

All  this  time  Raimbaut  had  listened  attentively, 
looking  from  one  speaker  to  the  other,  his  fate  hang- 

130 


A  MEADOW  LARK 

ing  in  the  balance.  He  met  Heraclius'  stern  glance 
with  a  challenge  in  the  firm  lines  of  his  mouth.  He 
smiled  faintly  at  Ermengarda's  evident  dislike.  But 
when  Alazais  spoke,  and  he  recognized  the  demoiselle 
who  had  protected  him  at  Beaucaire,  there  came  into 
his  eyes  an  expression  of  intense  devotion.  His  con- 
fusion had  quite  left  him,  and  to  the  inquiry  of  Ermen- 
garda,  he  answered  readily,  — 

"  I  shall  be  seventeen  years  old  next  Eastertide." 

"We  will  call  it  sixteen  then,"  said  Ermengarda, 
smiling  whimsically.  "  Like  many  other  ladies,  I 
have  long  ago  given  up  the  youthful  habit  of  fore- 
stalling time  by  speaking  of  my  next  birthday.  Six- 
teen years  of  age,"  continued  Ermengarda  thought- 
fully. "  Shall  we  command  him  to  write  a  line  for 
each  year  of  his  life  —  sixteen  lines  in  good  Provencal, 
in  which  there  shall  be  inherent  proof  that  they  have 
been  made  for  this  occasion?  " 

"  Let  us  be  kind  to  him,"  remarked  Heraclius. 
"  Give  him  but  fourteen." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Ermengarda,  "  and  how  long 
a  time  shall  we  allot  for  the  task?  Will  a  quarter- 
hour  be  sufficient?  What  say  you,  Alazais?  " 

"  I  think  it  much  too  short  a  time,"  replied  the 
demoiselle.  "  We  should  grant  him  a  full  hour,  if  we 
expect  anything  more  than  empty  rhymes.  You 
must  decide  this  matter,  my  sweet  Bellisenda. 
Indeed,  it  is  time  we  referred  to  you,  who  have 
scarcely  spoken  a  word." 

The  Countess  of  Polignac  started  rather  guiltily, 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

and  leaned  back  in  her  chair.  Her  eyes  had  been 
wandering,  half-admiringly,  half-caressingly,  from 
Raimbaut's  flushed  face  to  his  graceful  well-knit 
figure.  Her  composure  was  tested  when  she  realized 
that  the  Bishop  at  her  elbow  was  watching  her  with 
an  expression  of  amusement  on  his  handsome  counte- 
nance. 

"  It  is  a  good  old  proverb,"  said  she,  "  '  When  in 
doubt,  take  the  mid-road.'  I  decide  that  he  shall 
have  a  half-hour,  to  be  measured  fairly  by  Messire 
Folquet  on  the  water-clock.  Messire  Bonifaz,  who 
seems  friendly,  shall  show  him  the  table  in  the  far 
corner,  giving  him  a  piece  of  parchment  on  which  to 
write  the  lines." 

"  The  task  is  far  too  easy,"  declared  Ermengarda. 
"  Will  you  undertake  it?  " 

"  Gladly,"  answered  Raimbaut,  "  and  admit  the 
test  to  be  a  fair  one,  even  though  I  fail  in  its  ac- 
complishment. I  have  never  yet  found  a  single 
line  of  my  own;  yet  with  the  inspiration  of  judges 
so  fair  and  noble,  I  shall  succeed,  if  the  saints  fail 
me  not." 

He  made  a  low  bow  and  was  escorted  by  Bonifaz  to 
a  quiet  corner,  where  he  was  left  alone  with  encourag- 
ing words.  Raimbaut's  heart  was  full  of  conflicting 
emotions.  He  felt  like  the  "  fresh-caged  bird  "  to 
which  Heraclius  had  compared  him.  It  flashed  upon 
him  like  a  revelation  that  he  could  have  no  better 
motive  than  this  on  which  to  base  his  song.  He 
dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink,  hummed  a  tune  which  the 

132 


A  MEADOW  LARK 

peasants  sang  in  the  vineyards  near  Vacqueiras  and 
began,  — 

"  A  meadow  lark,  rough-handled  in  the  snare, 
Was  prisoned  in  a  cage  and  bade  to  sing." 

Clearly  the  comparison  was  plain  enough  to 
avoid  any  accusation  of  plagiarism !  Then  the  words 
came  tumbling  over  themselves  and  Raimbaut's 
face  flushed  with  the  joy  of  his  first  composition. 
He  wrote  rapidly,  almost  feverishly,  and  captured 
eight  lines  very  quickly.  Again  he  wrote  until  he 
had  sixteen.  He  now  realized  that  Heraclius,  in 
shortening  his  task,  had  made  it  more  difficult,  for 
he  was  obliged  to  change  his  rhymes.  It  was  un- 
wise to  risk  failure  by  excess,  and  he  disposed  of  the 
two  superfluous  lines  just  as  Bonifaz  appeared. 
At  sight  of  Raimbaut's  face,  the  friendly  squire 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Good!  I  knew  you  would  succeed!  I  have 
wagered  my  best  hawk  with  Miraval,  and  stand  to 
win  five  deniers  from  Heraclius." 

When  Raimbaut  reappeared  and  took  his  place 
before  the  mantel,  every  whisper  ceased,  and  every 
eye  was  turned  expectantly  upon  him.  He  waited 
until  he  received  a  friendly  nod  from  Count  Raimon, 
and  then  sang  his  fourteen  lines,  — 

"  A  meadow  lark,  rough-handled  in  the  snare, 
Was  prisoned  in  a  cage  and  bade  to  sing ; 
But  all  day  long  he  fought  against  the  ring 
Of  stubborn  steel  that  barred  him  from  the  air. 

133 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

All  silent  was  he  in  his  black  despair, 

Until  there  came  to  him  a  thought  of  Spring, 

The  memory  of  a  day  his  buoyant  wing 

Had  brushed  a  rose  fragrant  beyond  compare. 

Then,  dumb  no  longer,  careless  of  his  plight, 

Forgetful  of  his  jailor's  rancorous  voice 

And  straightened  cell,  he  could  not  but  rejoice, 

And  clearly  sang,  atremble  with  delight : 

So  sing  I  now,  —  though  mute  a  little  space,  — 

Remembering  my  lady's  flower-like  face." 

When  he  finished  he  handed  the  manuscript  to  the 
Countess  Bellisenda.  She  had  not  failed  to  notice 
the  blush  on  the  cheek  of  Alazais,  when  Raimbaut 
read  the  line,  "  Remembering  my  lady's  flower-like 
face."  She  scanned  the  scroll  carefully  and  passed 
it  to  Alazais,  who  glanced  at  it  approvingly  and 
gave  it  to  Ermengarda.  It  was  evident  that  the 
last  inspection  was  to  be  much  more  critical  than  its 
predecessors.  Ermengarda  knit  her  brows  and 
pursed  her  mouth,  and  read  every  word  of  the  little 
poem  once,  and  twice,  and  thrice,  before  she  laid  it 
on  the  table.  Count  Raimon,  to  whom  the  whole 
affair  had  been  a  source  of  the  keenest  enjoyment, 
broke  the  silence  which  had  become  almost  painful. 

"  Well,  my  fair  cousin  of  Narbonne,  what  is  your 
verdict?  Has  the  boy  performed  his  task?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  replied,  — 

"  Here  are  the  fourteen  lines  which  point,  pat 
enough,  to  himself  and  us.  The  rhymes  are  perfect, 
but  then,  they  are  very  simple.  The  phrases  are 
cramped,  the  words  are  feeble,  and  the  sentiment 

134 


A  MEADOW  LARK 

silly  and  vapid.  Certainly,  with  this  verse  before 
me,  I  would  not  impose  him  upon  you  as  your 
squire." 

"  My  sweet  daughter,"  said  the  Count,  turn- 
ing to  Alazais,  "  do  you  agree  with  the  Countess 
Ermengarda?" 

"  I  do  not,"  answered  the  demoiselle.  "  While  I 
have  not  the  erudition  of  the  Countess  and  cannot 
speak  with  her  authority  as  a  critic,  still  I  must  give 
my  judgment,  such  as  it  is.  To  my  mind,  Messire 
Raimbaut  has  fulfilled  his  obligation  to  the  letter." 

At  this  there  was  a  hum  of  excitement.  Bernart, 
who  had  been  in  an  agony  of  uncertainty  for  the 
last  half-hour,  turned  appealingly  to  Bellisenda,  and 
the  Count,  who  was  watching  his  wife  from  under 
beetling  brows,  muttered,  — 

"  The  lad  is  too  handsome  for  her  to  decide  against 
him." 

"  Well,  my  beautiful  Countess,"  said  Raimon, 
"  you  must  decide  this  very  important  question, 
concerning  which  there  is  a  disagreement.  What  is 
your  judgment?'" 

"It  is  certainly  a  very  awkward  form  of  verse," 
she  declared,  "  the  like  of  which  I  have  never  seen. 
Yet  there  seems  to  be  a  very  pretty  sentiment  in 
it;  and  when  we  consider  the  circumstances  under 
which  it  is  written,  I  think  the  boy  has  passed  the 
ordeal  with  honor." 

There  followed  hearty  applause,  louder  than  all 
else  being  the  cry  of  Bonifaz.  Bernart  embraced 

135 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

Raimbaut  again  and  again,  only  Heraclius  failing  to 
congratulate  him,  and  even  Ermengarda  was  carried 
away  by  the  enthusiasm,  and  expressed  pleasure  that 
her  own  judgment  had  been  overruled. 

When  at  last  there  came  a  moment  of  silence,  Count 
Raimon  filled  a  goblet  with  his  own  hand  and,  lifting 
it  high  above  his  head,  cried  out,  — 

"  Let  us  drink  to  my  new  squire,  Raimbaut  of  Vac- 
queiras!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

BONIFAZ   OF   MONFERRAT 

WHEN  Raimbaut  awoke  on  his  first  morning  in 
Toulouse,  the  bell  was  already  ringing  for  early  Mass. 
Bernart  still  slumbered  peacefully,  and  Raimbaut 
dressed  as  quietly  as  possible  and  stole  downstairs 
into  the  courtyard.  In  the  farther  corner  was  the 
chapel;  and  through  its  wide  doorway  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  palace  were  hurrying.  As  Raimbaut 
entered,  he  was  greeted  on  all  sides  with  friendly 
looks;  Alazais  smiled  at  him,  and  the  Countess  Belli- 
senda  beckoned  him  to  a  place  by  her  side. 

The  chapel  was  very  beautiful;  the  walls  were 
adorned  with  frescoes,  and  the  stained-glass  windows 
bright  with  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  The  altar 
was  of  Italian  marble,  and  the  little  crucifix  upon  it 
of  pure  gold.  The  priest  was  clad  in  a  rich  chasuble, 
the  orphreys  being  covered  with  the  skilled  embroid- 
ery of  devout  fingers.  Even  the  incense  which  came 
from  the  swinging  censer  had  the  spirit  of  the  East 
in  its  rare  odor,  and  the  tones  of  the  organ  were  like 
a  dream  of  Heaven.  Everything  appealed  to  Raim- 
baut's  love  of  the  beautiful,  as  well  to  his  religious 
feeling.  When  the  voice  of  the  priest  rose  in  the 
chant,  it  was  almost  as  sonorous  as  a  note  of  the  organ 
itself.  Raimbaut  fell  on  his  knees  in  an  ecstasy  of 
devotion.  He  did  not  notice  that  the  LadyBellisenda 

137 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

knelt  so  close  to  his  side  that  her  shoulder  pressed 
against  his  own,  and  the  fragrance  of  her  silken  gar- 
ments was  about  him. 

When  the  Mass  was  over,  he  rose  from  his  knees 
with  a  long  sigh,  and  gave  the  Countess  his  hand  to 
assist  her  to  rise  from  the  cold  stones.  The  boy 
wondered  a  little  at  the  pressure  of  the  clinging 
fingers,  and  the  nearness  of  the  red  lips  when  the  lady 
looked  into  his  face  and  thanked  him.  They  walked 
together  into  the  hall  for  breakfast,  and  when  Raim- 
baut  left  her  at  the  high  table,  she  said,  — 

"  Count  Raimon  has  promised  to  have  you  squire 
me  this  afternoon  at  the  falconing.  Mind  you  do 
not  fail  me!  " 

"  Indeed, no!  "  answered  Raimbaut,  looking  admir- 
ingly into  the  alluring  face,  "  I  could  not  forget  so  fair 
a  fortune." 

The  first  day  at  Toulouse  was  crowded  with  inci- 
dents. Most  of  all  Raimbaut  remembered  it  as  the 
day  on  which  he  pledged  himself  to  Bonifaz  as  friend 
and  comrade.  The  Count  of  Monferrat  was  a  serious 
youth,  with  a  face  almost  stern  in  its  earnestness. 
The  shadow  of  the  Crusades  was  over  him,  for  his 
elder  brother  had  died  in  the  Holy  Land,  fighting  for 
the  Cross  of  his  Lord.  Although  Bonifaz  had  been 
sent  from  his  home  in  Piedmont  to  learn  manners  at 
the  most  polished  court  of  Europe,  he  never  forgot  his 
ambition  to  become  a  perfect  Christian  knight. 

They  went  together  to  the  tilt-yard,  a  corner  of 
which  had  been  assigned  to  the  squires  for  their  exer- 

138 


BONIFAZ  OF  MONFERRAT 

cises.  Here  they  found  Miraval,  Folquet  and  Guil- 
hem  lying  on  the  grass,  and  breathing  heavily,  for 
they  had  just  finished  a  running-match  which  Fol- 
quet had  won  easily. 

"  By  my  faith,"  declared  Miraval,  resentfully,  "  it 
is  a  bad  sign  when  one  who  aspires  to  knighthood 
shows  such  capacity  for  flight." 

At  this  Folquet  flushed  indignantly,  — 

"  As  you  know,  I  have  no  ambition  to  be  a  knight, 
though  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  escape  from  the 
decree  that  binds  me  to  distasteful  tasks.  In  running 
and  in  leaping,  I  am  better  than  you  all.  Little  won- 
der is  it  that  I  am  not  skilful  with  the  sword  and 
lance,  which  I  detest!  " 

When  Raimbaut  looked  inquiringly  at  Bonifaz,  the 
latter  whispered,  — 

"You  must  know  that  Folquet  wishes  to  be  a  monk, 
but  as  he  is  an  only  son,  his  father  will  not  consent 
to  his  retirement  from  the  world.  They  will  never 
make  a  knight  of  him  in  anything  but  name,  and  he 
will  some  day  reach  the  shelter  of  the  cloister,  toward 
which  his  heart  turns." 

The  tilt-yard  was  a  large  enclosure,  and  often  had 
it  been  crowded  in  the  old  days  before  Count  Raimon 
had  received  his  hurt.  The  seats  which  had  been 
graced  by  throngs  of  exquisite  ladies,  were  now 
weather-worn  and  unsightly,  the  barriers  were  lean- 
ing, and  the  ground  over  which  the  iron-shod  destriers 
thundered,  had  become  a  sea  of  waving  grass.  It 
was  melancholy  and  vacant,  but  the  squires  thought 

139 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

not  of  this  as  they  struggled  together  for  the  glory  of 
winning,  or  to  avoid  a  dishonorable  defeat.  In  the 
many  contests  of  skill  and  strength  Raimbaut  did  not 
fail  to  distinguish  himself,  although  he  was  no  match 
for  Bonifaz  in  wrestling,  nor  for  Folquet  in  run- 
ning. With  the  sword,  he  was  master  of  them  all. 
Miraval  was  a  little  angered  to  discover  that  Raim- 
baut could  reach  him  at  will,  and  get  away  without 
a  touch.  Even  Bonifaz  was  at  his  mercy,  and 
declared  he  had  never  met  Raimbaut's  equal,  save 
a  great  master-of-fence  from  whom  he  had  taken 
lessons  in  Genoa. 

At  last  they  all  had  enough  and  went  for  a  swim  in 
the  river,  —  Miraval,  Folquet  and  Guilhem  to  a 
shelving  beach,  Bonifaz  and  Raimbaut  where  they 
could  find  the  deep  water.  While  they  were  dress- 
ing, Raimbaut  noticed  a  medallion  with  a  gold  chain 
which  his  friend  had  hung  carefully  on  a  low  branch. 
As  it  swayed  to  and  fro  in  the  breeze,  he  caught 
sight  of  a  miniature  upon  the  ivory  disk,  framed 
in  a  richly  carven  band  of  gold.  It  was  the  work 
of  a  skilful  artist  and  seemed  hardly  a  picture,  but 
a  real  face  that  looked  out  between  the  green 
leaves. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  asked  Raimbaut  wonderingly.  "  I 
have  seen  only  one  other  portrait  so  beautiful." 

"It  is  my  sister  Biatritz.  I  wear  her  likeness 
on  my  heart,  for  I  have  never  yet  found  a  demoiselle 
to  compare  with  her." 

"It  is  not  alone  at  the  loveliness  of  the  face  I 
140 


BONIFAZ  OF  MONFERRAT 

wonder,"  declared  Raimbaut.  "Why  is  it  so  like  a 
picture  that  I  carry  always  on  my  breast?  " 

He  took  the  Book  of  Hours  from  the  pocket  of 
his  tunic,  and  opening  it  at  the  first  miniature, 
pointed  to  Saint  Love,  standing  pure  and  beatific  in 
her  niche.  At  sight  of  it,  Bonifaz  gave  an  excla- 
mation of  surprise  and  bewilderment. 

"  It  is  none  else  than  the  face  of  my  sister  Biatritz! 
What  is  the  artist's  name?  He  must  have  seen 
her!" 

"  It  is  not  possible,"  replied  Raimbaut.  "  These 
are  the  portraits  of  three  women  loved  long  ago  by 
a  noble  troubadour.  The  Saint  Faith,  in  the  robe 
of  old  rose,  is  the  Countess  Ermengarda  when  she 
was  young.  She  was  even  then  scarcely  beautiful. 
The  Saint  Hope,  with  eyes  lifted  heavenward  and  a 
lute  in  her  hand,  is  the  Countess  of  Dia.  It  is 
easy  to  understand  how  one  so  lovely  could  write 
'  Why  comes  the  dawn  so  soon? '  Of  the  Saint  Love 
I  can  only  tell  you  that  she  was  a  fair  demoiselle 
who  dwelt  in  Italy,  and  is  long  since  dead.  This 
Saint  Love  seems  to  me  most  beautiful  of  all.  From 
the  first  moment  I  looked  upon  her,  she  has  had 
strange  influence  over  me.  When  I  dream  of  a 
Perfect  Love,  it  is  this  face  and  figure  I  see.  Some- 
times I  find  myself  speaking  aloud  to  her  the  thoughts 
that  are  in  my  heart.  I  often  pray  that  my  quest 
may  some  time  bring  me  to  her  feet." 

"May  your  prayer  be  granted!"  said  Bonifaz 
heartily.  "  I  fear  there  is  little  romance  in  my 

141 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

soul.  Truly,  I  care  more  for  a  good  horse  than  the 
most  fascinating  woman  who  troubles  me  with  her 
smiles.  Shall  I  tell  you  something  about  Biatritz? 
If  we  are  to  be  brothers-in-arms,  she  must  be  your 
sister  as  well  as  mine." 

"  I  could  find  no  nobler  brother,  and  no  sister 
half  so  lovely,"  replied  Raimbaut. 

"  She  is  a  little  demoiselle  scarce  twelve  years 
old,"  began  Bonifaz^  "  yet  is  she  queen  over  all  the 
Monferrata.  Young  as  she  is,  I  would  rather 
endure  my  father's  fiercest  anger  than  a  look  of 
reproach  from  her.  I  would  not  part  with  her 
least  smile  to  win  my  golden  spurs.  Since  I  bade 
her  farewell  at  the  Castle  of  the  Vale  among  the 
hills  of  Piedmont,  I  have  never  ceased  longing  to 
hold  her  in  my  arms  again.  Like  you,  she  is  full  of 
fancies.  She  chose  a  little  garden  in  the  corner  of 
the  walls  where  I  built  her  a  bower  covered  with 
roses,  which  she  calls  her  Arbor  of  Dreams.  Here 
she  likes  to  spend  the  long  hours  of  the  day  reading 
of  saintly  experience  and  knightly  adventure.  I 
can  see  her  now,  with  the  blossoms  all  about  her,  as 
she  looks  out  over  the  level  valley  to  the  distant 
crags  of  Monte  Rosa,  showing  pale  and  soft  against 
the  blue  sky.  She  believes  there  will  some  time 
come  to  her  Arbor  of  Dreams  a  knight  without 
reproach.  Is  it  not  strange  that  such  fancies  should 
fill  the  mind  of  a  child?  " 

"It  seems  not  strange  to  me,"  replied  Raimbaut, 
"  for  ever  since  I  was  a  little  lad  of  ten  I  have  been 

142 


BONIFAZ  OF  MONFERRAT 

blessed  with  dreams  like  hers.  Bernart  has  told 
you  already  of  my  vow.  I  pray  God  both  night  and 
morning  that  my  heart  may  be  kept  pure,  and  that 
there  may  come  to  me  some  day  the  Perfect  Love." 

"  I  never  cease  to  wonder,"  said  Bonifaz,  "  how 
such  conceits  can  take  possession  of  one.  There 
come  no  dreams  to  me  and  no  imaginings.  I  plan 
to  fight  like  my  ancestors  for  the  glory  of  the  Cross, 
and  am  often  impatient  against  the  decree  which 
keeps  me  here  at  Toulouse,  learning  pretty  man- 
ners for  which  I  have  neither  respect  nor  liking. 
Until  to-day,  my  only  consolation  has  been  good 
Bernart,  and  the  singing  of  songs  I  love.  At  last  I 
have  found  in  you  the  friend  for  whom  I  have  been 
hungering.  Shall  we  pledge  ourselves  to  be  com- 
rades and  brothers  at  the  fireside,  with  drawn  swords 
for  each  enemy,  and  an  open  hand  to  every  friend?  " 

"  I  am  ready,"  replied  Raimbaut;  "  friend  and 
brother  will  I  be  until  death  parts  us." 

With  a  feeling  of  deep  solemnity  the  boys  clasped 
hands,  and  they  were  very  serious  as  they  walked 
back  to  the-palace.  During  dinner  Raimbaut  spoke 
little,  and  was  too  preoccupied  to  notice  the  smiles 
with  which  the  Countess  Bellisenda  favored  him 
from  the  high  table.  It  did  not  take  her  long,  how- 
ever, to  dispel  the  boy's  reveries  when  she  met  him 
in  the  courtyard  with  the  falcon  on  her  wrist. 

It  was  mid-afternoon.  As  they  rode  slowly  over 
the  long  bridge  which  led  across  the  Garonne,  a 
cool  breeze  rippled  the  water  and  tempered  the  heat 

143 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

of  the  descending  sun.  There  was  scarce  a  cloud  in 
the  blue  sky,  and  the  air  was  so  clear  that  a  lark 
could  be  followed  to  its  highest  flight.  It  was  a  day 
to  give  rapture  to  a  falconer,  and  yet,  to  Raimbaut's 
surprise,  he  found  the  Countess  disinclined  to  talk 
concerning  the  science  of  which  he  was  so  fond. 
She  was  bravely  apparelled  in  a  robe  of  dark  green, 
and  her  tunic  of  a  lighter  shade  was  ornamented 
with  twisted  threads  of  gold  and  cut  so  as  to  reveal 
her  white  neck  and  the  dimples  in  her  throat. 

They  were  the  last  of  the  falconing  party,  an 
arrangement  quite  to  the  liking  of  the  Countess, 
who  leisurely  mounted  her  horse  when  the  others 
were  riding  through  the  gate.  Miraval  had  not 
failed  to  notice  the  manoeuvres  of  the  Countess  and 
whispered  to  Folquet,  — 

"  Bellisenda  has  donned  her  green  robe.  Alas  for 
Messire  Raimbaut  and  his  vow !  Unless  Saint  Martin 
help  him,  he  will  be  forsworn  this  day." 

"  Ah!  "  replied  Folquet,  "  I  remember  well  when 
I  went  falconing  with  the  beautiful  Countess  of 
Polignac.  She  found  a  woodland  path,  and  we 
rested  on  a  green  bank  by  a  little  stream  until  the 
shadows  fell." 

1  Yes,"  continued  Miraval,  "  and  she  doffed 
her  shoes  and  stockings,  kirtled  her  robe  to  her 
knee,  and  waded  in  the  cool  water.  Saint  Anthony 
himself  would  have  fallen,  had  he  seen  her  white 
limbs!  Faith,  I  do  not  think  Raimbaut  is  quite  a 
saint,  in  spite  of  his  earnestness." 

144 


BONIFAZ  OF  MONFERRAT 

Indeed,  there  was  many  a  knowing  smile  and  merry 
word  as  the  party  rode  out  of  the  courtyard,  leaving 
the  Countess  to  follow  with  the  young  sire  of  Vacque- 
iras.  Last  of  all  to  disappear  through  the  gateway 
was  Alazais,  and  on  the  face  of  the  little  demoiselle 
was  an  expression  of  mingled  admiration  and  dis- 
approval as  she  looked  back  at  the  laggards. 

Raimbaut  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  when  he  held  the 
slender  foot  in  his  hand  and  lifted  the  lovely  Belli- 
senda  to  her  saddle.  He  was  very  proud  to  ride  by 
her  side,  the  sole  escort  of  a  chatelaine  so  beautiful, 
and  as  he  gazed  into  her  smiling  face,  the  boy's  cheeks 
flushed. 

They  rode  over  the  rattling  planks,  speaking  sel- 
dom, so  deafening  was  the  noise;  but  when  the  hoof- 
beats  were  muffled  by  the  soft  turf,  they  talked  of 
many  things :  the  weather,  the  latest  song,  the  palace 
gossip,  it  mattered  not  what,  so  long  as  they  could 
hear  each  other's  voice. 

Bellisenda  had  taken  quite  a  different  course  from 
that  chosen  by  the  falconing  party,  following  the 
river  for  a  little,  and  then  turning  toward  the  forest 
that  fringed  the  meadows  with  a  darker  green.  A 
flock  of  partridges  drummed  in  the  heather,  but 
Raimbaut  was  deaf  to  the  sound.  A  heron  oared 
his  swift  course  across  the  sky,  but  the  Countess  did 
not  see  him  or  loosen  the  falcon  from  her  wrist. 
They  wandered  oblivious  to  all  the  world,  until  they 
reached  the  forest  and  came  to  a  woodland  path  into 
which  Bellisenda  turned,  with  Raimbaut  at  her  elbow. 

145 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

The  shadows  were  like  a  cool  lake  into  which  they 
plunged.  Over  their  heads  the  branches  spread  a 
thick  arbor,  through  which  the  sun  sent  splashes  of 
golden  light.  The  air  was  fragrant  with  the  odor  of 
leaf  and  twig  and  forest  flower. 

For  a  long  time  neither  spoke.  Raimbaut  was 
under  the  magic  spell  of  the  woodland ;  the  Countess 
was  content  to  let  her  eyes  wander  from  the  boy's 
handsome  face  to  his  well-knit  figure  and  back  again, 
in  time  to  give  an  answering  smile.  So  narrow  was 
the  way  that  they  were  barely  able  to  ride  together, 
their  horses  walking  flank  to  flank.  Again  and  again 
the  Countess  leaned  toward  Raimbaut  to  avoid  an 
intruding  branch,  until  at  last  with  a  long  sigh  of 
content  she  rested  her  head  upon  his  shoulder.  At 
this  the  boy's  blood  kindled,  and  the  fragrance  of  her 
golden  hair  made  him  blind  with  rapture. 

So  they  rode  side  by  side,  into  the  depths  of 
the  forest,  and  with  every  step  Raimbaut  seemed  to 
enter  a  new  world  whose  secret  he  longed  to  solve. 
At  last  they  came  to  a  parting  of  the  ways.  The 
Countess  drew  rein  and  lifted  her  head. 

"  Which  road  shall  we  take?  "  she  asked  in  tones 
vibrant  with  passion. 

'  Truly,  I  know  not,"  answered  Raimbaut,  his 
voice  sounding  faint  and  distant  to  him  as  if  in  a 
dream. 

'  Yet   you    must   choose,"    declared    Bellisenda. 

'  The  left  path  leads  back  to  the  palace;  this  other  to 

a  green  bank  by  the  side  of  a  woodland  stream.     It  is 

146 


BONIFAZ  OF  MONFERRAT 

starred  with  violets  which  fill  the  air  with  perfume. 
There  we  can  rest  and  bathe  our  feet  in  the  cool 
waters.  You  shall  sing  to  me  your  song  of  the 
brook,  and  I  will  grant  any  favor  you  may  ask  for 
your  reward.  Choose  between  these  paths.  Whither 
shall  we  go?  " 

She  touched  her  horse's  flank,  went  a  few  steps 
down  the  right  pathway,  then  turned  and  faced  him 
like  a  woodland  nymph  in  her  green  robe,  as  prodigal, 
as  generous,  as  unrestrained.  Her  face  was  flushed, 
her  bosom  rose  and  fell,  her  eyes  were  bright,  her  lips 
parted.  She  was  so  beautiful  that  as  Raimbaut 
looked  upon  her  the  fire  in  his  breast  burst  into  flame. 

Must  he  choose  between  the  vacant  path  and  this 
other  where  Bellisenda  waited,  the  very  priestess  of 
pleasure? 

His  choice  was  already  made :  every  drop  of  blood 
in  his  veins  cried  out  for  her.  He  was  about  to  fol- 
low, realizing  fully  to  what  the  road  must  lead,  care- 
less of  aught  else,  forgetful  of  his  vow.  Then 
suddenly  he  remembered  the  pure  face  of  the  child 
Biatritz.  In  the  dark  eyes  there  was  a  look  of  appeal. 
The  glamour  of  the  forest  weakened.  His  memory 
returned  to  him.  His  conscience  whispered,  and 
then  cried  out  insistent.  So  great  was  the  revulsion 
of  feeling  that  he  reeled  in  his  saddle.  Then  he  sat 
upright,  clear-eyed  and  resolute. 

Bellisenda  waited,  the  smile  of  confidence  fading. 
Raimbaut  lifted  the  frayed  corner  of  his  mantle  to 
his  lips,  crossed  himself,  and  cried, — 

147 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  I  choose  the  left  path!  So  help  me  God,  I  will 
keep  my  vow!" 

Quick  as  a  swooping  falcon,  the  Countess  struck 
him  on  the  cheek  with  her  loose  glove  once,  twice,  and 
thrice.  Then  she  put  spurs  to  her  horse  and  galloped 
swiftly  toward  the  palace,  Raimbaut  following  after, 
his  face  pale  as  Death,  save  where  the  glove  had  left 
its  mark  upon  his  cheek. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  TOWER   OF  NIGHTINGALES 

THE  Count  and  Countess  of  Polignac  took  their 
departure  the  day  following  Bellisenda's  ride  with 
Raimbaut.  She  bade  him  a  formal  good-bye,  but 
there  was  a  flash  in  the  lady's  eye  which  showed 
that  she  had  not  forgotten. 

A  single  week  found  Raimbaut  comfortably  set- 
tled in  the  household  of  Count  Raimon.  He  learned 
that  Toulouse  was  the  Rosy  City,  not  because  its 
bricks  were  red,  but  because  its  very  life  was  the 
color  of  the  rose.  Here  knights  laid  aside  their 
armor,  and  men-at-arms  walked  the  streets  without 
their  swords.  From  the  open  windows  came  the 
tinkle  of  the  lute,  and  even  ragged  urchins  were 
singing  the  songs  of  Bernart,  or  Borneil,  or  Daniel. 
The  merchants  discussed  poetry  as  they  bought  and 
sold  their  goods,  and  the  Bishop  of  Saint  Sernin  paid 
more  attention  to  the  perfection  of  his  choir  than  to 
his  doctrine.  The  great  city  was  ingenuous  as 
any  tiny  village  nestling  among  the  vineyards. 
From  morn  to  eve  the  air  was  full  of  music  and 
song  and  laughter.  Young-heartedness,  the  joy  of 
life,  was  over  all.  If  Toulouse  was  the  city  of  song, 
the  palace  was  his  centre.  Its  council-chamber  was 
deserted,  and  grass  grew  high  in  the  tilt-yard. 

The  day  began  with  Mass  in  the  chapel  at  Saint 

149 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Sernin,  for  those  who  loved  a  pilgrimage  at  early  dawn. 
After  breakfast  the  broad  fields  invited  the  lover  of 
hawk  or  dog.  Those  who  cared  for  neither  could 
ride  with  falcon  ostentatiously  on  wrist,  and  spend 
the  hours  of  the  morning  in  the  thrust  and  parry  of 
gay  words  and  soft  glances.  There  were  few  lag- 
gards at  dinner,  for  the  long  morning  in  the  open 
air  gave  appetites  not  easily  satisfied.  In  the  after- 
noon, one  might  visit  the  city  with  its  shops,  or 
while  away  the  time  in  the  cool  shade  of  the  garden. 
Should  the  day  prove  stormy,  there  were  dice,  chess, 
or  tennis,  as  one  might  choose.  Affairs  of  love  and 
gallantry  were  never  lacking  to  flavor  every  occu- 
pation and  amusement.  With  nightfall  came  the 
supper,  which  Count  Raimon  chose  to  make  his 
most  important  meal,  and  then  followed  songs  and 
stories  until  the  torches  flared  along  the  corridors, 
showing  the  way  to  soft  couches. 

Raimbaut  found  his  life  an  easy  one,  for  the  Count 
asked  little  personal  service  of  his  squires.  He  had 
servants  who  could  better  attend  to  his  wardrobe, 
his  armor,  and  his  horses.  This  left  the  squires  free 
to  sing  and  to  serve  as  cavaliers  about  the  palace. 
They  spent  many  hours  in  the  Tower  of  Nightin- 
gales, where,  under  the  mild  sceptre  of  good  Bernart, 
time  flowed  on  with  scarce  a  ripple.  Miraval's  too 
trenchant  wit  caused  an  occasional  storm,  but  it 
soon  blew  over  and  was  succeeded  by  the  habitual 
calm. 

Day  after  day  old  songs  were  sung,  new  ones  tried, 

150 


THE  TOWER  OF  NIGHTINGALES 

and  fresh  ones  written.  Some  hours  were  given  to 
study,  but  more  to  the  art  to  which  the  young  squires 
had  devoted  themselves.  They  discussed  each 
other's  work  freely,  and  compared  their  own  lines 
with  the  classics  of  the  old  masters.  Bonifaz,  Guil- 
hem,  and  Raimbaut  were  unquestioning  disciples  of 
Bernart,  but  Folquet  was  becoming  more  and  more  a 
follower  of  the  scholarly  Borneil.  Miraval  was  an 
open  admirer  of  Daniel,  but  so  loyal  was  Bonifaz  to 
his  master  that  he  saw  little  merit  in  any  other  work, 
and  he  closed  every  discussion  with  the  declaration, — 
"  There  has  been  but  one  troubadour  born  into  the 
world.  His  name  is  Bernart  of  Ventadorn." 

On  a  rainy  afternoon  in  the  late  autumn,  the  squires 
were  gathered  in  the  tower.  It  was  cold  and  raw, 
with  a  bitter  wind  blowing  from  the  bare  meadows. 
Raimbaut  and  Bonifaz  stood  together  by  the  window, 
and  Miraval  leaned  against  the  chimney-corner. 
Folquet  sat  with  his  finger  in  a  book,  and  Guilhem 
had  curled  himself  up  on  the  hearth  where  a  sparkling 
fire  was  burning.  Bernart  was  sitting  in  a  wide 
chair  as  close  as  possible  to  the  flames.  The  heat  and 
the  cheeriness  of  the  room  made  the  old  troubadour 
talkative. 

"  Tell  me,  my  children,"  said  he,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  blue  eye,  "  which  is  better  —  to  love  perfectly, 
or  to  woo  successfully?  " 

"  A  tenso!  A  tenso!  "  cried  Miraval  eagerly,  "  I 
choose  success,  and  challenge  Raimbaut  to  answer 
me." 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  though 
I  know  right  well  that  the  tenso  is  not  my  forte.  I 
hope  the  strength  of  my  cause  will  offset  its  defender's 
weakness." 

Miraval  took  his  place  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
lute  in  hand,  and  began  without  the  least  hesitation. 
No  one  of  his  companions  was  so  ready,  or  sang  as 
easily.  He  claimed  that  love  was  like  war :  the  object, 
to  win  the  stronghold  of  a  lady's  heart.  The  prizes 
were  bright  smiles,  sweet  kisses,  soft  caresses.  Gold, 
jewels,  and  rich  gifts  also  belonged  to  the  victor, 
should  he  be  a  poor  troubadour.  To  seek  Perfect 
Love  was  like  the  quest  of  the  green  rose,  or  the  black 
pearl. 

When  he  ended,  the  applause  was  long  and  en- 
thusiastic. 

"Well  done,  Sire  of  Miraval!"  cried  Bernart. 
"  r  faith,  I  wonder  how  Raimbaut  can  answer  you. 
I  warn  him,  he  will  find  it  a  hard  task  to  convince  me 
that  a  troubadour  should  not  expect  his  reward." 

Raimbaut  rose  with  his  lute  under  his  arm,  evi- 
dently too  much  in  earnest.  Not  so  glib  as  Miraval, 
to  him  the  words  did  not  come  fluently,  but  they 
were  stronger  and  more  expressive.  He  replied  that 
he  who  looked  for  the  rewards  of  love  was  a  wanton, 
and  should  wear  shoulder-knots  like  his  frail  sister. 
He  was  a  hired  soldier  who  fought  for  plunder.  Even 
in  war,  a  true  knight  supported  the  right,  and  thought 
not  of  victory.  He  claimed  it  was  better  to  fail  seek- 
ing a  high  ideal,  than  to  succeed  in  a  common  quest. 

152 


THE  TOWER  OF  NIGHTINGALES 

Perfect  Love  was  the  rose  of  Paradise,  the  jewel  of 
life. 

When  Raimbaut  finished,  Bernart  shook  his  head 
saying,  — 

"  My  dear  Raimbaut,  there  has  been  one  Jaufre 
Rudel  to  die  for  love  of  his  Princess  Far-Away.  You 
are  too  poor  to  think  always  of  the  ideal.  I  must 
remind  you  of  the  old  Provencal  adage,  —  '  Praise 
the  sea,  but  stay  on  dry  land.'  I  warn  you  because 
I  love  you,  and  because  I  have  such  high  hopes  of 
your  future.  Above  all  things,  do  not  sing  over  the 
head  of  your  audience." 

Raimbaut  had  been  so  often  praised  that  the  rebuff 
seemed  doubly  severe,  but  he  received  it  without  pro- 
test, although  he  still  believed  himself  to  be  right. 
The  old  troubadour,  satisfied  that  he  had  taught 
Raimbaut  a  useful  lesson,  became  reminiscent,  and 
looking  at  the  young  men  around  him,  said,  — 

"  In  a  few  years  the  world  must  look  to  you  for  its 
great  songs.  Raimbaut  of  Courthezon  has  laid  aside 
his  lute;  its  strings  are  broken  by  the  black  hand  of 
Death.  With  me,  only  Peire  d'Alvernhe  is  left  of 
those  who  groped  the  way,  that  others  who  followed 
might  find  an  easier  path.  Next  to  us  comes  Rogier, 
whose  feet  are  on  the  descending  slope  and  whose  eyes 
are  towards  the  west.  I  fear  I  cannot  judge  him 
fairly.  He  seems  never  to  have  quite  discarded  the 
monastic  habit.  He  always  wears  the  cloak  of  the 
troubadour  lightly  on  the  shoulder.  He  has  written 
some  good  songs  of  his  Ermengarda,  whose  beauty 

153 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

needs  strong  praise  to  make  it  pass.  I  never  listen 
to  him  but  I  hear  the  drone  of  the  choir  and  smell  the 
odor  of  smoking  candles!  He  will  go  back  to  them 
before  he  dies." 

As  Bernart  was  speaking  thus  about  Rogier,  Fol- 
quet  moved  uneasily  on  his  seat  in  the  corner  and 
interrupted  with,  — 

"Do  you  not  believe  that  a  man  may  serve  the 
Church  well  and  faithfully,  and  yet  find  good  songs  to 
the  praise  of  his  love?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  replied  Bernart.  "  There  are 
three  great  vocations  from  which  a  youth  of  intelli- 
gence, courage  and  ambition  may  choose.  He  may 
be  a  churchman,  a  knight,  or  a  troubadour.  But 
more  than  one,  he  cannot  be.  The  Gospel  says,  — '  Ye 
cannot  serve  God  and  Mammon.'  Just  as  true  is  it 
that  a  man's  service  cannot  be  divided  in  this  world. 
Let  him  choose  between  the  Church,  the  pursuit  of 
arms,  or  a  life  of  song;  but  let  him  not  hope  to  juggle 
with  the  Cross  in  one  hand  and  a  lute  in  the  other. 
He  is  sure  to  drop  one  of  them  and  perhaps  both, 
before  he  is  done  with  the  game.  Notice  Bertran  de 
Born,  who  comes  next.  He  is  really  a  knight.  He 
thinks  the  clash  of  arms  is  sweeter  than  the  sound  of 
the  viol.  His  songs  are  as  cutting  as  his  sword,  and 
he  makes  strife  wherever  he  goes." 

"Cannot  a  Crusader  act  as  servant  both  of  knight- 
hood and  Holy  Church,  being  a  disciple  of  the  Gay 
Science  as  well?  " 

This  question  Bonifaz  asked  most  respectfully,  and 

154 


THE  TOWER  OF  NIGHTINGALES 

Bernart  answered  with  a  kindly  glance  of  his  blue 
eyes,  — 

"  In  truth,  Messire  Bonifaz,  I  doubt  that  any  one 
can  do  all  these  things;  but  if  it  were  possible,  there 
is  none  could  do  it  better  than  yourself.  You  have 
the  strength  and  courage  of  the  knight,  the  pure  soul 
of  the  churchman,  and  the  joy  of  the  troubadour." 

Bernart  continued,  — 

"  Glad  am  I  to  come  to  the  best  singer  of  us  all. 
Guiraut  de  Borneil  shifts  not  to  cassock  nor  to  shirt 
of  mail.  Of  lowly  birth,  he  has  not  been  led  astray 
by  the  distractions  of  high  position.  His  one  am- 
bition is  to  sing  his  best,  and  with  a  single  heart 
he  follows  his  ideal.  He  makes  our  best  melodies 
and  smoothest  metre.  He  is  a  thinker  who  has 
seen  visions.  Were  he  less  the  student  and  more 
the  man  with  red  blood  in  his  veins,  he  would  be 
a  perfect  exponent  of  our  science  of  song.  Give  me 
your  lute,  Raimbaut,  and  I  will  show  you  a  gem  of 
Provencal  poetry." 

Bernart  interpreted  his  rival's  "  And  soon  will 
come  the  "morning,"  with  so  much  sympathy  that 
the  squires  listened  breathless  until  he  laid  the  lute 
aside  and  resumed  his  discourse. 

"  Borneil,  like  Bertran,  is  approaching  the  end  of 
his  two-score  years,  and  will  outlive  the  latter,  who 
is  destined  to  feed  the  crows  hovering  over  the 
battle-field.  There  remain  but  four  who  have  won 
their  way  to  a  high  level  of  fame.  There  are  many 
others  who  haunt  the  little  castles  on  the  distant 


r— 


\ 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

hills,  but  no  troubadours  who  are  worth  a  day's 
journey  to  hear.  These  four  have  not  yet  reached 
their  thirtieth  year,  yet  are  they  known  through  all 
Provence  and  Languedoc.  They  have  but  to  decide 
what  castle  or  court  they  shall  choose,  and  which 
lady  they  shall  honor  with  their  songs.  Rich  are 
the  gifts  and  many  are  the  smiles  bestowed  upon 
them.  Berguedan  the  Spaniard  is  the  eldest.  He 
has  too  much  of  the  red  blood  that  Borneil  lacks. 
He  has  the  voice  of  an  angel  and  the  soul  of  a  devil. 
A  beast  is  he  who  honors  not  woman,  and  some  day 
his  handsome  carcass  will  be  found  in  the  gutter, 
carved  fantastically  by  a  wronged  husband's  dagger, 
'T  is  '  fair  water  following  a  foul  taste,'  to  speak  of 
Arnaut  de  Maruelh  after  the  wicked  Catalonian. 
Arnaut  has  a  soul  as  pure  as  that  of  Jaufre  Rudel,  and 
will  love  as  nobly.  He  has  not  yet  chosen  his  lady, 
but  when  he  does  he  will  never  change,  but  sing  to 
her  alone.  There  are  a  hundred  fair  hands  stretched 
out  to  him,  yet  he  is  not  spoiled.  Peire  Raimon 
hath  a  fault  most  rare  in  singers:  to  wit,  excessive 
modesty.  So  retiring  is  he  that  he  blushes  when  a 
lady  looks  at  him,  and  runs  away  when  she  offers 
him  a  favor.  Even  the  cold  and  modest  like  not  a 
man  like  this,  and  however  well  he  may  sing,  he 
cannot  succeed  unless  with  years  there  come  to  him 
a  spark  of  courage.  Last  of  all,  though  not  least, 
I  grant  you,  comes  Arnaut  Daniel.  They  call  him 
the  '  word-smith,'  and  rightly.  To  many  this  seems 
a  term  of  praise;  to  me  a  criticism  most  severe. 

156 


THE  TOWER  OF  NIGHTINGALES 

Compare  his  verse  with  that  of  Borneil,  and  notice 
how  stiff,  how  labored,  and  how  artificial!  He  may 
claim  that  easy  rhymes  belong  to  the  fortunate 
lover,  but  one  as  unsuccessful  as  himself  must  choose 
difficult  metre,  involved  metaphors,  curious  rhymes. 
He  is  proud  to  say,  '  I  am  Arnaut,  who  chase  the 
wind,  hunt  the  hare  on  an  ox,  and  swim  against 
the  stream.' ' 

'  Yes,"  said  Folquet,  "  and  the  silly  man  got  a 
sharp  answer  from  the  Monk  of  Montaudon.  '  Since 
you  started  to  hunt  rabbits  with  an  ox  and  to  swim 
upstream,  you  have  forgotten  how  to  sing;  your  back 
is  stiff  from  your  ride,  and  you  have  a  cold  in  the 
head  which  leaves  you  but  a  snuffle.  Clearly  the 
water  is  bad  for  you.' ' 

At  the  monk's  criticism  of  Daniel,  Miraval's  brows 
grew  dark,  and  he  said,  — 

"  It  is  easy  for  those  who  can  make  only  songs  with 
rhymes  like  '  love  '  and  '  dove,'  and  '  spring  '  and 
'  ring,'  to  criticise  the  works  of  Daniel;  but  there  are 
many  who  think  that  a  troubadour  should  not  sing 
like  a  vine-dresser.  A  jewel  cannot  be  too  highly 
polished,  neither  can  a  poem  be  too  carefully 
finished." 

"  I  am  the  last  to  pose  as  an  oracle,"  said  Bernart. 
"  I  but  expressed  my  poor  opinion,  to  which  I  might 
bring  many  supporters,  —  among  them  our  good 
master  and  Amfos  of  Barcelona,  the  two  greatest 
patrons  of  the  Gay  Science." 

"  But,"  insisted  Miraval,  "  is  it  not  possible  that 

157 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

both  you  and  they  are  prejudiced  against  the  better 
school,  which  is  bound  to  supersede  the  simpler 
method  to  which  you  have  been  accustomed?  " 

Bonifaz  was  about  to  enter  the  lists,  and  had  gone 
as  far  as,  "A  good  blacksmith  was  spoiled  when 
Daniel  took  to  writing  verses,"  when  Bernart  stopped 
him  with  uplifted  hand. 

"  Indeed,  the  Sire  of  Miraval  may  be  right.  It  is 
easy  for  one  to  become  prejudiced  through  birth, 
training  and  surroundings.  Shall  I  tell  you  something 
of  myself?  My  father  was  a  simple  bowman,  and  my 
mother  served  in  the  kitchen  of  my  Lord  of  Venta- 
dorn.  As  a  boy  I  showed  some  promise  and  was  edu- 
cated by  the  priests,  but  proved  unfitted  for  the 
service  of  the  Church.  I  have  found  many  songs, 
some  of  which  may  be  unforgotten  when  I  am  no 
longer  even  a  memory.  I  have  had  my  little  loves, 
and  one  great  passion.  How  many  years  are  before 
me,  only  the  good  saints  know.  When  my  voice 
fails  me,  I  shall  not  struggle  vainly  against  old  age, 
nor  be  laughed  at  for  my  quavers.  There  is  a  quiet 
cell  awaiting  me  at  Dalon,  where  I  can  watch  the 
sun  sink  in  the  west,  and  wait  for  the  shadows  of 
death  to  gather." 

For  a  moment  Bernart's  face  was  sad  and  his  voice 
subdued,  but  in  another  instant  he  threw  off  his 
melancholy  with  a  cheery  laugh. 

"  I'  faith!  "  cried  he,  "  I  had  all  but  buried  myself, 
had  I  not  ?  Yet  it  is  useless  to  conceal  from  you 
that  the  noon  of  the  troubadour  is  a  short  one.  With 

158 


THE  TOWER  OF  NIGHTINGALES 

gray  hairs  the  plaudits  disappear.  Here  is  Raim- 
baut,  with  the  poor  fief  of  Vacqueiras  perhaps 
already  lost.  Tell  me,  Miraval,  had  he  not  better 
enter  the  Church?" 

Thus  challenged,  Miraval  replied,  — 

"  I  doubt  if  he  would  find  a  hair-shirt  comfortable, 
or  black  bread  and  water  satisfying.  He  has  been 
spoiled  for  all  this  by  his  soft  life  here  at  Toulouse." 

"  Well,  Folquet,"  said  Bernart,  "what  think  you  of 
the  soldier's  life  for  him?  A  single  act  of  daring  might 
make  his  fortune,  if  it  caught  the  eye  of  his  leader." 

"  Raimbaut  would  find  a  suit  of  mail  more  agree- 
able than  a  hair-shirt,"  answered  Folquet.  "  He 
might  be  content  enough  to  spend  his  days  trotting 
around  on  the  back  of  a  rough-gaited  charger,  with  a 
steel  pot  on  his  head." 

"  Perhaps,"  agreed  Bernart;  "  but  he  must  take 
his  chances  of  getting  a  wound  in  his  first  encounter, 
which  will  make  him  a  helpless  cripple,  or  of  having 
his  life  taken  by  some  sturdy  villain  with  half  his 
brains  and  no  gift  of  song.  What  say  you,  Bonifaz? 
Shall  we  make  a  knight  of  Raimbaut?  " 

"  We  will  make  nothing  of  Raimbaut,"  answered 
Bonifaz,  putting  his  large  brown  hand  on  his  friend's 
shoulder.  "  He  shall  choose  when,  and  what,  he 
will.  I  am  sure  that  in  the  Church  he  will  be  no  less 
than  a  cardinal;  in  armor,  no  worse  than  a  knight- 
banneret;  and  as  a  troubadour,  the  best  singer  of 
us  all." 


159 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  MONK   OF  MONTAUDON 

As  the  months  went  by,  Raimbaut  became  more 
and  more  a  favorite  at  the  court  of  good  Count  Rai- 
mon.  The  men-at-arms  admired  him  for  his  prowess 
with  the  sword,  and  a  bout  with  the  young  sire  of 
Vacqueiras  was  a  matter  of  congratulation,  although 
none  could  boast  of  anything  but  an  honorable  defeat. 
The  varlets  loved  him  because  he  troubled  them  not, 
and  had  always  a  smile  for  the  humblest.  Even  the 
merchants  in  the  city  were  proud  of  him,  and  spoke 
respectfully,  although  he  was  too  poor  to  fill  their 
coffers. 

He  wrote  long  letters  to  Anselme,  but  whenever 
he  declared  his  intention  to  visit  Vacqueiras  he  was 
informed  that  it  would  not  be  safe  either  for  him- 
self or  Peirol.  Anselme' s  replies  gave  the  homely 
news  of  the  villagers,  the  births,  the  marriages  and 
the  deaths.  Guilhem  had  succeeded  his  uncle  in  the 
rights,  titles  and  seignories  of  the  Count  of  Courthe- 
zon.  Peirol's  condition  was  unchanged,  and  of  his 
cure  there  was  slight  hope.  Twice  the  good  priest 
warned  Raimbaut  against  Berguedan,  but  no  reason 
was  given  why  the  Spaniard  should  wish  to  injure 
him,  and  there  was  no  hint  as  to  how  he  was  likely  to 
be  assailed.  Anselme's  letters  always  ended  with  an 
appeal  for  fidelity  to  God's  grace  and  for  a  life  of  self- 

160 


THE  MONK  OF  MONTAUDON     * 

sacrifice  and  devotion.  This  was  not  lost  upon  Raim- 
baut.  The  brown  village  among  the  hills  seemed 
very  far  from  Toulouse.  Here  the  great  object  of 
life  was  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  the  beautiful  sight, 
the  delicious  taste,  the  fragrant  odor,  and  the  sweet 
song.  Raimbaut's  vow  seemed  half  a  challenge  to  the 
fair  demoiselles  and  lovely  chatelaines  who  came  to 
the  palace,  and  often  was  his  strength  tested  as  by 
the  fascinating  Bellisenda. 

Of  the  other  squires,  Guilhem  was  only  a  boy,  not 
to  be  taken  seriously,  and  the  ladies  petted  him  until 
he  fled  from  them.  Folquet  was  too  much  the  stu- 
dent, but  made  an  interesting  lover.  Bonifaz  was 
most  disappointing.  Although  he  loved  a  life  of 
song,  his  heart  was  firmly  fixed  on  the  glories  of 
knighthood;  and  for  the  ladies  he  cared  not  at  all. 

Miraval  was  the  prince  of  gallants:  he  had  the 
manner  of  a  man  of  the  world,  a  rather  languid  air 
of  "  I-wonder-if-it-be-really-worth-while,"  which  was 
irresistible.  He  played  one  pretty  chatelaine  against 
another  with  the  skill  of  an  experienced  carpet- 
knight.  He  loved  the  game  for  its  own  sake,  and  was 
proud  of  his  conquests.  Alazais  did  not  care  for  him, 
but  she  hated  to  have  him  drawn  away  from  his 
allegiance  to  her  by  this  or  that  complacent  lady  who 
happened  to  be  spending  a  few  days  at  the  palace. 
Now  she  did  not  hesitate  to  show  her  preference  for 
the  young  sire  of  Vacqueiras,  nor  did  she  sympathize 
with  the  pangs  of  jealousy  which  Miraval  suffered. 
She  liked  Raimbaut  because  she  had  been  able  to 

161 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

help  him:  it  gave  her  a  feeling  of  possession.  His 
father's  misfortune  evoked  her  pity.  Accustomed  to 
admiration,  she  found  the  ordinary  compliments  of 
the  courtier  commonplace,  but  Raimbaut,  fresh  from 
a  simple  village  life,  was  like  a  breeze  of  the  morning. 
His  vivid  fancy  constantly  opened  new  vistas  to  her 
slower  imagination.  The  pretty  demoiselle  had 
ideas  of  her  own  about  which  she  liked  to  speak,  and 
the  respect  with  which  Raimbaut  listened  to  her 
lectures  on  manners  and  morals  was  very  flattering. 
It  was  easy  for  him  to  do  this,  as  he  found  her  theories 
like  his  own. 

Alazais  taught  that  the  most  desirable  of  all 
things  was  love  that  should  come  to  youth  as  the 
almond  blossom  to  early  April.  Not  the  love  of  the 
peasant  with  its  passion  and  its  desire,  but  a  devo- 
tion which  asked  for  little  and  found  complete  satis- 
faction in  itself.  The  sincerity  of  such  a  love  must 
bring  joi  —  a  young-heartedness  which  made  mean- 
ness impossible,  and  life  a  continuous  springtime. 
Yet  no  matter  how  great  the  gladness,  mesura  —  the 
moderation  of  perfect  poise  —  must  control  every 
act.  If  in  these  things  a  man  were  true  to  himself, 
he  might  hope  to  attain  to  the  ideal  of  his  life,  — 
cortesia,  —  the  courtliness  of  the  faultless  gentleman : 
purity  of  soul  manifest  in  polished  manner  and 
excellence  of  conduct.  This  was  the  code  which 
Alazais  taught,  which  Raimbaut  accepted,  and  to 
which  he  gave  his  unqualified  allegiance. 

The  first  step,  that  of  love,  he  had  already  taken. 

162 


THE  MONK  OF  MONTAUDON 

What  was  more  natural,  after  his  experience  at 
Beaucaire,  than  to  love  Alazais?  He  knew  he 
could  expect  nothing  more  in  return  than  a  smile,  a 
word  of  praise,  or  the  right  to  wear  her  glove  in  his 
helmet.  Each  day  found  them  more  in  sympathy, 
until  Raimbaut  was  recognized  as  her  chosen  cava- 
lier. This  was  wormwood  and  ashes  to  Miraval, 
who  was  furious  at  the  rival  who  had  supplanted 
him.  Although  he  had  been  held  by  a  light  leash, 
often  broken,  he  was  very  fond  of  the  fair  demoi- 
selle, and,  above  all,  his  pride  was  injured  by  his 
deposition. 

It  did  not  take  long  for  the  other  squires  to 
discover  the  condition  of  affairs,  and  their  jokes 
rankled  in  Miraval's  heart.  He  had  the  mortifica- 
tion of  seeing  Raimbaut  riding  by  Alazais'  side  for 
a  morning  with  the  falcons:  Alazais  had  discovered 
that  Raimbaut  was  best  able  to  handle  her  hawk. 
He  saw  Raimbaut  walking  with  her  to  the  shops: 
Alazais  had  learned  that  Raimbaut  had  a  nice  taste 
in  color.  It  was  Raimbaut  who  carried  her  book, 
who  copied4ier  songs,  and  bore  her  messages.  He 
lived  in  a  new  world,  fragrant,  rose-colored,  luxurious; 
and  he  worshipped  with  whole-hearted  devotion  the 
princess  who  ruled  it. 

It  was  late  afternoon  of  a  January  day.  Snow- 
flakes  had  been  falling  since  morning,  disappearing 
in  the  hungry  waters  of  the  Garonne,  spreading  a 
mantle  over  the  broad  plains  across  the  river. 

In  the  hall  of  the  palace  a  huge  fire  was  burning, 

163 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

and  around  it  the  household  had  gathered.  At  the 
left  of  the  hearth,  in  the  seat  of  honor,  sat  Count 
Raimon  with  Bernart,  bending  over  a  chess-table. 
The  Count,  evidently  in  difficulties,  was  studying 
each  move,  while  Bernart,  playing  with  apparent 
carelessness,  kept  a  bright  eye  on  all  that  went 
on  around  him. 

On  the  other  side  sat  Folquet,  dicing  with  a 
young  baron  who  was  spending  a  few  days  at  the 
palace.  Their  faces  were  flushed,  for  the  stakes 
were  high,  and  they  kept  up  a  continuous  clatter 
with  the  tumbling  cubes. 

Guilhem  was  telling  what  he  declared  to  be  a 
"  true  story,"  and  Miraval  was  making  his  task 
difficult  by  a  volley  of  skeptical  questions. 

In  an  alcove,  a  little  distance  from  the  fire,  were 
Alazais  and  Raimbaut.  This,  the  place  where  he 
had  written  his  first  poem,  was  Raimbaut's  favorite 
retreat.  Alazais  had  chosen  it  to-day  because  she 
was  engaged  in  illuminating  a  missal,  and  here  she 
found  a  good  light  and  the  quiet  that  she  loved.  At 
her  elbow  were  pots  of  paints  and  strips  of  gold,  and 
before  her  lay  the  precious  leaf  of  parchment  over 
which  she  had  already  spent  many  hours.  She  had 
chosen  an  initial  letter  from  Raimbaut's  Book  of 
Hours,  and  was  trying  with  infinite  patience  to  copy 
the  dark  blue  scroll  which  surrounded  it,  and  the 
rich  red  blossoms  which  flourished  on  the  slender 
tendrils.  Raimbaut,  bending  over  her  shoulder, 
watched  the  work  intently,  seldom  speaking  for 

164 


THE  MONK  OF   MONTAUDON 

fear  of  distracting  her  attention.  The  Book  of 
Hours  was  propped  up  by  a  piece  of  manuscript 
which  had  already  shown  a  tendency  to  prove  un- 
stable, and  now  suddenly  rolled  away,  letting  the 
Book  fall  to  the  floor. 

As  Raimbaut  sprang  to  pick  it  up,  Alazais  noticed 
that  from  the  loosened  cover  there  protruded  a  lock 
of  hair,  which  he  carefully  tucked  inside  the  fold 
before  he  placed  the  volume  on  the  table  again. 
She  said  not  a  word,  however,  for  several  minutes 
continuing  her  work  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
It  was  only  when  she  finished  the  letter  that  she 
looked  up  and  said,  — 

"  Well,  Messire  Raimbaut,  that  is  enough  for  this 
day's  task.  Now  I  wish  to  be  amused.  Tell  me  a 
story." 

"  Gladly  will  I,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  if  you  will 
make  a  choice.  Which  shall  it  be?  Do  you  prefer 
comedy  or  tragedy?  Would  you  laugh  or  cry?  I 
have  a  story  of  Helen  of  Troy  which  perhaps  may 
please  you." 

"  I  know  not  whether  I  shall  laugh  or  cry,"  an- 
swered Alazais,  "  but  I  choose  a  romance.  Make  the 
time  within  a  year  or  two,  the  lover  like  yourself, 
and  the  lady  anything  you  please,  if  you  but  give 
her  auburn  tresses.  She  shall  have  auburn  tresses, 
a  lock  of  which  she  grants  her  lover,  who  hides  it 
inside  the  cover  of  his  book." 

At  this  thrust  Raimbaut  could  scarce  forbear  a 
smile,  in  spite  of  the  respect  he  bore  his  mistress. 

165 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

She  faced  him,  keen-eyed  and  insistent,  a  touch  of 
color  in  her  cheeks. 

"  Truly,"  he  declared,  "  it  was  no  lock  of  fair 
lady's  hair  that  fell  from  my  book,  and  with  it  is 
no  tale  of  love." 

"  Well,  tell  the  story,  whatever  it  may  be,"  com- 
manded Alazais,  "  and  remember,  to-day  it  is  my 
fancy  to  have  the  tale  ungarnished.  You  must  for- 
give me  if  I  prove  a  whit  exacting;  but  when  at  the 
beginning  I  am  asked  to  disbelieve  my  eyes,  you 
must  not  expect  to  find  me  very  credulous  at  the 
end." 

For  a  moment  Raimbaut  hesitated;  then  he 
opened  the  Book,  turned  back  the  cover,  and 
showed  Alazais  the  tuft  of  hair  from  the  mane  of  the 
red  roan. 

"  I'  faith,"  said  he,  "  should  I  choose  a  mistress 
with  auburn  tresses,  I  hope  they  may  not  grow  so 
coarse  as  this!  Bonifaz  tells  the  story  of  a  knight 
who  fell  in  love  with  his  horse.  I  was  once  won- 
drous fond  of  a  colt  at  Vacqueiras,  but  her  mane  was 
gray.  I  cannot  tell  you  the  story  of  this  lock  of 
hair,  except  to  say  that  I  keep  it  in  memory  of  a 
crime." 

As  Raimbaut  spoke,  his  face  grew  dark,  and  he  sat 
for  several  minutes  in  silence  looking  out  over  the 
river  to  the  white  fields  beyond.  Alazais,  watching 
him  meanwhile,  was  about  to  speak,  when  there  came 
a  gust  of  wind  from  the  outer  door,  followed  by  the 
crash  as  it  swung  back  again  on  its  hinges,  and  then  by 

166 


THE  MONK  OF  MONTAUDON 

a  babel  of  voices  which  brought  them  both  to  their 
feet. 

As  they  stood  in  the  archway,  they  could  look 
down  the  hall  and  see  the  huge  figure  of  a  monk,  so 
plastered  by  the  storm  that  he  seemed  a  snow-image. 
Around  him  surged  a  crowd  of  young  people  who, 
seizing  him  on  all  sides,  dragged  him,  not  unwilling, 
to  the  fireside.  Here  they  fell  away  as  he  bowed  to 
the  Count,  with  the  assurance  which  only  could  come 
to  a  tried  favorite,  certain  of  a  welcome.  His  habit 
was  gathered  into  his  girdle,  revealing  drenched 
sandals,  thick  ankles,  and  legs  like  those  of  Goliath  of 
Gath.  His  girth  was  prodigious,  his  face  the  picture 
of  good  humor;  his  black  eyes  were  dancing  with 
merriment,  and  the  corners  of  his  mouth  the  very 
haunts  of  roguery.  In  spite  of  the  confusion,  he  had 
a  ready  answer  to  the  shafts  of  wit  that  were  shot  at 
him. 

To  Raimbaut's  look  of  inquiry  Alazais  replied,  — 

"  Do  you  not  know  him?     It  is  the  merry  Monk  of 

Montaudon.     I  approve  of  him  no  more  than  my 

father;  but  we  smile  when  we  should  frown,  and  like 

him  in  spite  of  ourselves." 

At  the  first  interval  of  silence,  the  Count  spoke,  — 
"  Good  Martin,  we  are  pleased  to  see  you  again. 
It  is  never  a  dull  afternoon  with  you  by  the  fireside. 
I  know  you  did  not  fall  with  the  snow-flakes,  for  we 
should  have  heard  a  noise  in  the  courtyard.  You 
always  appear  like  this,  suddenly  and  without  warn- 
ing !  Either  you  are  carried  by  the  angels  from  place 

167 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

to  place,  or  you  are  in  league  with  the  Evil  One,  who 
bears  you  where  he  will." 

At  this  there  was  a  shout  of  laughter,  which  broke 
into  a  roar  when  the  monk  replied,  — 

"I*  faith,  you  have  discovered  me.  A  good 
churchman  makes  friends  both  of  the  Powers  of  light 
and  darkness,  and  uses  both.  It  was  an  angel  carried 
me  to  Avignon;  but  when  I  told  him  my  destination 
was  Toulouse,  he  said  he  never  came  this  way.  A 
pair  of  very  lusty  fiends  from  the  nether  world  brought 
me  hither.  One  tried  it  alone,  but  finding  me  too 
heavy,  he  called  for  help,  and  there  came  his  fellow 
also." 

Even  the  Count  laughed  until  the  tears  stood  in 
his  eyes. 

"  Brother  Martin,  you  are  too  much  for  me!  Not 
a  word  will  we  speak  if  you  tell  us  the  news  you  have 
gathered  in  your  wanderings.  No  one  comes  to 
Toulouse  so  richly  laden,  and  none  can  tell  his  tale 
so  well." 

Already  a  huge  fauteuil  had  been  dragged  to  the 
hearth,  and  giving  himself  a  shake  which  sent  the 
drops  of  water  spinning  all  about  him,  Brother 
Martin  sank  into  the  capacious  seat  with  a  sigh  of 
content.  He  gave  another  sigh  as  he  accepted  a  tall 
flagon  of  red  wine,  of  which  he  first  tasted  delicately, 
rolling  the  liquor  about  his  mouth ;  and  then,  throw- 
ing back  his  head,  he  drank  slowly,  without  taking 
breath,  until  the  last  drop  had  disappeared. 

For  a  long  moment  after  there  was  silence,  as  he 

168 


THE  MONK  OF   MONTAUDON 

beamed  upon  his  audience,  the  smile  lurking  in  the 
corner  of  his  thick  lips  becoming  more  and  more 
effulgent  as  he  saw  the  expectation  and  welcome  on 
every  face.  At  last  he  spoke,  with  a  voice  rich  and 
ponderous :  — 

"  Believe  me,  friends,  if  the  chariot  of  Saint  Elias 
should  roll  to  the  door  at  this  minute  and  an  angel 
should  say  to  me,  '  Come,  Martin,  you  are  too  good 
for  this  sinful  world.  Get  in  here  beside  me  and  I 
will  drive  you  straight  to  paradise,'  I  should  answer, 
'  Pardon  me,  my  friend:  better  a  heaven  you  know, 
than  a  heaven  you  do  not  know.  I  go  not  with  you, 
but  stay  right  here  in  the  palace  of  Toulouse.'  ' 

There  was  a  flutter  of  applause,  but  no  one 
spoke  for  fear  of  interrupting,  and  the  monk  con- 
tinued,— 

"  I  have  a  thousand  things  to  tell,  but  one  big  bit 
of  news  from  Avignon  which  makes  everything  else 
seem  small.  Tell  me,  good  friends,  have  any  of  you 
ever  heard  the  name  of  Benizet?  I  have  a  denier  in 
my  purse  which  I  will  give  to  any  one  who  will  tell 
me  where  Benizet  was  born,  where  he  has  lived,  and 
what  has  been  his  occupation." 

He  drew  a  denier  from  the  fat  pouch  which  hung  at 
his  girdle,  — 

"  I  am  a  poor  man,  as  all  of  you  know.  This  is 
my  last  piece  of  money,  yet  will  I  give  it  to  any 
one  who  knows  aught  of  Benizet,  the  most  famous 
man  in  all  Provence." 

Again  he  waited  for  dramatic  effect,  and  in  spite 

169 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

of  his  assertion  was  a  little  disconcerted  when  Jacques 
said  deprecatingly,  - 

"If  the  honest  monk  really  wishes  to  know,  and  the 
denier  is  a  good  one,  I  will  tell  him  that  Benizet  is  a 
goatherd,  born  in  Vacqueiras,  who  has  kept  his  flock 
upon  the  hills  above  the  village." 

At  this  announcement  the  monk  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  joined  in  the  chorus  of  laughter,  and  tossed 
the  coin  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  to  Jacques,  who 
caught  it  deftly  in  his  mouth. 

"  Alas!  "  said  Martin,  "  that  was  a  fit  punishment 
for  a  rash  promise.  I  now  have  another  question  to 
ask,  and  for  an  answer  to  this  I  can  hold  out  no 
promise  of  reward.  Tell  me,  do  all  of  you  believe  in 
miracles?  You  do!  Well,  that  did  not  I  till  yester- 
week.  Of  course,  I  did  not  doubt  that  miracles  had 
been  performed ;  but  I  thought  the  saints  had  become 
weary,  or  had  lost  their  knack,  as  happens  sometimes 
to  a  good  cook  with  pasties.  Well,  listen  to  me,  while 
I  tell  the  story  of  my  conversion. 

"  You  must  know  that  from  Valence  to  Avignon 
neither  angel  nor  imp  could  I  get  to  carry  me,  so  I 
walked  on  my  two  poor  feet;  and  when  I  arrived  at 
the  palace  the  Bishop,  noticing  how  foot-sore  and 
weary  I  was,  invited  me  to  stay  a  few  days  with  him, 
for  my  physical  recuperation,  and  for  his  own  soul's 
strengthening. 

"  We  were  sitting  in  the  refectory  one  evening, 
lingering  over  an  eel-pie,  for  which  I  confess  a  carnal 
liking,  when  a  friar  brought  news  to  us  that  a  rough 

170 


THE  MONK  OF  MONTAUDON 

peasant  was  declaring  about  the  city  that  he  had 
been  commanded  by  God  to  build  a  bridge  over  the 
Rhone.  He  was  calling  every  one  to  help  him :  those 
who  were  rich,  with  gold;  and  those  who  were  poor, 
by  the  labor  of  their  hands.  The  friar  reported  that 
most  of  the  people  mocked  the  man  as  a  crazy  en- 
thusiast, but  that  he  was  gathering  about  him  a  little 
band  who  believed  that  he  really  had  a  mission. 

"  To  this  report  the  Bishop  gave  but  slight  notice, 
warning  the  friar  not  to  intrude  again  while  he  was 
engaged  at  table  with  news  so  uninteresting.  We 
heard  nothing  more  at  the  palace,  and  I  had  quite 
forgotten  about  the  matter,  when  the  city  was  sud- 
denly put  in  an  uproar.  As  the  Bishop  was  preach- 
ing to  his  people,  a  ragged  peasant  came  striding 
down  the  aisle  and,  halting  before  the  pulpit, 
cried  out  with  a  loud  voice,  — '  Hear  me,  and  know 
that  Jesus  Christ  has  sent  me  to  you  that  I  may 
build  a  bridge  over  the  Rhone ! '  You  can  easily 
.believe  that  this  was  most  disconcerting  to  the  good 
Bishop,  thus  interrupted  in  a  learned  discourse  on 
the  miraculous  draught  of  fishes.  He  did  not  lose 
his  presence  of  mind,  however,  but  turned  the  man 
over  to  the  chief  constable  of  the  town,  with  instruc- 
tions to  confine  him  if  he  were  crazy,  but  if  a  wilful 
impostor,  to  make  an  example  of  him  to  all  those 
who  would  disturb  the  peace  of  Toulouse. 

'  The  next  morning  we  were  breakfasting  on  the 
famous  fish  of  the  Sorgues,  cooked  with  chestnuts 
and  olives.  They  are  very  tempting  to  the  palate, 

171 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

especially  when  washed  down  with  a  few  bottles  of 
the  red  wine  of  Roussillon.  We  were  at  breakfast, 
I  say,  when  the  chief  constable  broke  in  upon  us. 
He  was  a  simple  creature,  and  seemed  in  sore  straits 
to  discover  his  duty.  He  said  that  the  man  had 
answered  all  questions  clearly.  He  gave  his  name  as 
Benizet,  goatherd  from  Vacqueiras,  and  to  their 
threatenings  he  fearlessly  replied,  '  My  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  has  sent  me  to  this  city  to  make  a  bridge 
over  the  river.'  The  constable  reported  that  he  was 
at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do,  and  asked  that  he 
might  bring  the  man  to  the  palace  for  the  Bishop's 
own  judgment. 

"  To  this  his  Lordship  agreed,  only  stipulating, 
very  reasonably,  that  an  hour  be  left  for  the  eating 
of  the  fish  and  another  hour  for  its  proper  digestion. 
Furthermore,  the  good  man  protested  strongly 
against  the  frequent  interruptions  which  had  come 
to  him  at  table,  and  insisted  that  thereafter  all  doors 
should  be  closed  until  his  meals  were  over. 

"  It  so  happened  that  it  was  nearly  noon,  and  we 
were  sitting  in  the  hall,  the  Bishop  on  his  high  seat, 
I  near  at  hand,  and  the  canons  on  their  benches, 
when  the  door  was  opened  and  the  constable  entered, 
followed  by  a  rabble,  and  holding  the  disturber  by 
the  shoulder.  This  last  was  a  tall  fellow  with  red 
hair  bleached  by  the  sun,  who  wore  a  rough  coat  and 
looked  as  if  he  had  slept  all  his  life  under  the  stars 
and  rain.  He  was  pale  and  gaunt,  and  on  his  face 
was  a  light  such  as  I  have  never  seen  before. 

172 


THE   MONK  OF  MONTAUDON 

"  To  the  Bishop's  questions  he  answered  clearly 
that  his  name  was  Benizet,  and  that  he  came  from 
Vacqueiras,  where  he  kept  his  uncle's  goats.  When 
asked  why  he  had  left  his  herd,  he  replied  that  it 
was  at  the  call  of  God,  who  commanded  him  to 
build  a  bridge  across  the  Rhone;  which  task  he  was 
certain  to  complete  with  the  help  of  Our  Lady. 

"'What  then!'  exclaimed  the  Bishop,  looking 
down  scornfully  from  his  high  seat,  '  do  you,  who 
are  the  least  of  men,  and  who  possess  nothing  but 
your  two  hands,  boast  that  you  are  about  to  make  a 
bridge  where  neither  God,  nor  Saint  Peter,  nor  Saint 
Paul,  nor  Charlemagne  himself,  has  been  able  to 
do  it? ' 

"  To  this  the  goatherd  replied  as  simply  as  if  he 
were  a  little  child  repeating  his  creed,:  '  Through  the 
power  of  Christ  who  has  commanded  me,  I  will  build 
this  bridge.' 

"  '  But  how  will  you  build  it?'  inquired  the  Bishop. 
'  Will  you  make  it  span  the  waters  in  a  night,  in 
answer  to  your  prayers?  ' 

"  '  I  have  no  doubt  of  Christ's  power  to  build  it  in 
a  single  night;  but  it  is  my  duty  to  erect  the  bridge 
with  the  gold  of  the  rich  and  the  labor  of  the  poor, 
who  have  nought  else  to  give.  It  is  to  be  built  of 
stones  and  lime,  which  I  shall  beg  from  those  who 
possess  them.' 

"  '  Very  well,'  said  the  Bishop,  '  if  this  is  your  plan, 
I  will  make  you  a  gift  of  the  first  stone  for  your  bridge 
from  this  palace.  It  is  a  mighty  stone,  worthy  of  so 


THE  SEVERED   MANTLE 

great  a  structure.  If  you  are  able  to  carry  it  to  the 
river's  edge,  I  shall  believe  that  you  are  able  to  build 
the  bridge,  and  will  help  you  further.' 

"  To  this  Benizet  replied,  — 

"  '  Show  me  the  stone.  I  put  my  trust  in  God,  who 
will  give  me  strength  to  carry  it.' 

"  '  Follow  me,  then,'  answered  the  Bishop,  '  and 
let  me  see  the  wonders  which  you  can  do.' 

'  Thereupon  he  stepped  down  from  his  high  seat 
and  we  all  followed  to  the  outer  court,  I  close  to  his 
elbow,  and  so  near  Benizet  that  I  could  study  him 
carefully.  His  face  was  as  calm  as  if  he  slept,  his  hand 
did  not  tremble,  neither  did  he  breathe  quickly.  We 
crossed  the  court  and  came  to  a  low  gateway,  before 
which  the  Bishop  paused,  and  looked  at  the  huge 
stone  over  it.  It  was  as  large  as  an  altar;  and  truly 
when  I  eyed  it,  I  did  not  believe  it  could  be  lifted  by  a 
score  of  men.  The  Bishop  pointed  to  it  and  turned 
to  Benizet,  saying,  — 

"  '  There  is  the  first  stone  for  your  bridge.' 

"  Benizet  knelt  a  moment  in  prayer,  and  rose  in  a 
dead  silence.  He  then  walked  slowly  to  the  gateway, 
bent  his  knees,  and  placed  his  shoulder  under  the 
stone.  When  first  he  straightened  his  legs,  I  noticed 
the  mortar  cracked  on  one  side.  At  his  second  effort 
he  broke  the  stone  loose;  the  third  time  he  lifted  it 
clear,  and  started  for  the  river. 

"  For  a  moment  we  were  so  amazed  that  we  did  not 
follow,  but  when  we  could  gather  our  wits  together, 
we  hurried  after.  He  walked  straight  to  the  river- 

174 


THE  MONK  OF   MONTAUDON 

brink,  and  I  was  by  his  side  when  he  threw  his  mighty 
burden  into  the  swift  water.  He  then  turned  to  the 
multitude  with  his  hands  extended  in  an  attitude  of 
appeal,  but  not  a  single  word  did  he  speak. 

"  At  this  the  people  gave  a  great  shout,  weeping  and 
embracing  one  another,  so  overcome  were  they  with 
their  emotions.  For  an  instant  the  Bishop  looked 
amazed,  then  he  cried  in  a  loud  voice,  —  'It  is  a 
miracle!  It  is  the  hand  of  God! '  And  we  all  fell  on 
our  knees  by  the  river-bank. 

"  Soon  there  gathered  a  great  crowd,  who  followed 
Benizet  and  the  Bishop  in  procession  to  the  church, 
chanting  as  they  walked.  Thither,  the  news  having 
been  bruited  about,  came  the  whole  city.  The  con- 
stable himself,  who  had  been  first  to  kiss  the  hand  of 
Benizet,  pledged  three  hundred  §ous;  the  Bishop 
promised  as  many  more;  and  in  that  same  place 
within  an  hour  ten  thousand  sous  were  given.  In- 
deed, there  is  now  a  lack  neither  of  men  nor  money, 
and  a  bridge  will  surely  span  the  Rhone  through  the 
efforts  of  this  same  simple  goatherd,  Benizet  of 
Vaqqueiras." 

Every  one  listened  intently.  When  he  finished, 
there  were  exclamations  of  wonder  on  every  side. 
The  household  of  Toulouse  was  not  overburdened 
with  religion,  but  the  most  skeptical  were  impressed 
by  the  earnestness  with  which  the  Monk  of  Mon- 
taudon  told  the  story  of  Benizet. 

Raimbaut  became  so  interested  as  the  tale  pro- 
gressed, that  he  left  Alazais  and  took  his  place  by 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Jacques.  The  latter,  who  had  always  belittled 
Benizet  and  his  mission,  was  quite  overcome,  and 
could  scarce  gather  together  confidence  enough  to 
sniff  incredulously  from  time  to  time. 

The  monk,  after  wetting  his  dry  throat  with  another 
flagon  of  wine,  started  on  a  spicy  tale  in  which  the 
reputation  of  the  chatelaine  of  Bagnols  was  more  than 
breathed  upon,  and  Raimbaut  and  Jacques  slipped 
away  to  the  quiet  of  the  tower  to  talk  over  the  sur- 
prising revelation.  Even  thus  far,  however,  the  voice 
of  Martin  penetrated  when  he  sang,  as  did  the  shouts 
and  laughter  which  followed.  Jacques  was  still  in- 
credulous and  declared,  — 

"  It  is  nothing  more  than  a  trick  to  gain  money 
from  the  pious." 

"But,"  Raimbaut  replied,  "you  forget  that  the 
Bishop  mocked  at  Benizet,  and  that  instead  of  obtain- 
ing money,  he  paid  out  of  the  diocesan  coffers !  What 
had  the  clerics  to  gain  from  a  bridge  over  the  Rhone?" 

This  Jacques  could  not  answer,  and  he  fell  back  on 
the  great  physical  strength  of  the  goatherd  for  his 
argument  against  the  miracle. 

'  This  Benizet  is  as  strong  as  Saint  Samson,  who 
pulled  down  a  palace  with  his  two  hands.  I  have 
never  seen  the  goatherd's  power  fully  tried;  but  a 
dozen  men,  who  had  struggled  in  vain  to  lift  the  load 
of  charcoal  which  pinned  Etienne  to  the  ground,  saw 
Benizet  raise  it  as  if  it  were  a  basket  of  grapes." 

"  I  know  not  what  to  think,"  declared  Raimbaut. 
"  Even  when  my  father  came  to  his  grievous  hurt  and 

176 


THE  MONK  OF  MONTAUDON 

my  prayers  were  not  answered,  I  never  doubted  the 
power  or  goodness  of  God.  I  will  have  faith  that  the 
saints  love  and  help  us." 

"  Saints/'  replied  Jacques,  "  are  always  asking 
credit  for  good  done,  but  take  no  blame  for  the  ills  that 
come  to  us.  Bah!  They  are  like  my  little  dog  at 
Vacqueiras,  who  comes  up  proudly  wagging  his  tail 
whenever  I  have  snared  a  rabbit.  That  Etienne,  the 
charcoal-burner,  has  a  saying  that  '  A  man's  best 
patron  saint  is  his  own  right  hand.'  ' 

Jacques'  practical  views  of  life  not  infrequently 
served  to  bring  his  master's  head  out  of  the  clouds. 
But  at  these  too  cynical  observations  Raimbaut  shook 
his  head  and  dismissed  him.  He  wished  to  be  alone. 
For  a  long  time  he  looked  out  over  the  black  waters. 
Did  not  Our  Lady  hear  his  prayers  and  intercede  with 
her  Blessed  Son?  Did  not  Saint  Martin  know  of  his 
vow,  and  help  him  to  keep  it?  Should  he  not  some 
day  find  the  Perfect  Love  for  which  he  yearned?  He 
stood  at  the  window  until  he  could  no  longer  see  the 
pallid  fields ;  in  his  mind  the  unanswered  questions,  in 
his^heart  the  unfinished  struggle. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   RED   ROAN 

THE  tide  of  spring  was  at  its  flood.  The  palace 
was  deserted,  and  the  Tower  of  Nightingales  was 
empty.  The  ripple  of  the  water  against  the  wall,  the 
sight  of  the  green  meadows  across  the  river,  the 
fragrance  of  flowers  drifting  through  the  windows, 
and  the  songs  of  birds  mating  in  the  garden,  were 
calls  too  insistent  for  the  young  squires  to  refuse. 
From  early  dawn  to  late  dusk  they  were  abroad, 
Folquet  alone  proving  faithful,  and  even  he  devot- 
ing only  the  afternoon  to  his  books. 

To  Raimbaut  it  seemed  the  very  April  of  life. 
He  had  developed  fast  during  the  four  years  spent  in 
the  congenial  atmosphere  of  the  palace.  He  was 
now  man  grown,  as  tall  as  Miraval,  stronger  than 
Bonifaz,  broad  at  the  shoulders,  narrow  at  the 
waist,  and  with  the  hope  of  a  beard  on  his  face.  A 
voice  in  his  heart  answered  to  every  throb  of  the 
springtime,  and  the  blood  ran  riot  in  his  veins. 

Since  early  morning  he  had  ridden  with  Alazais 
over  meadows  spreading  soft  and  silent  as  green 
carpets.  They  had  talked  together  of  many  things, 
though  not  a  syllable  of  love  was  spoken.  Their 
friendship  was  very  intimate,  and  all  the  more 
precious  because  they  never  tried  to  measure  or 
analyze  it. 

178 


THE  RED  ROAN 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  he  lifted  the  pretty 
demoiselle  from  her  horse,  lingered  for  a  last  word 
at  the  doorway,  and  then  sauntered  leisurely  to  the 
stables.  In  front  of  them  was  a  closed  court  used 
for  the  grooming  of  the  horses  in  fair  weather,  but 
usually  almost  empty  at  this  hour.  Raimbaut  now 
found  it  full  of  bustle  and  confusion  on  account  of 
the  arrival  of  a  half  dozen  dust-stained,  sweat- 
drenched  animals.  These  were  being  led  in  a  circle 
by  the  varlets,  supervised  by  a  tall  squire  who  stood 
in  the  middle,  with  arms  akimbo.  • 

Raimbaut  had  seen  much  the  same  sight  a  hun- 
dred times  before,  but  to-day  he  did  not  fail  to 
notice  the  quality  of  the  horses  and  the  beauty  of 
their  trappings.  First  came  a  bright  bay,  treading 
gingerly  and  pulling  at  his  tether;  then  an  iron 
gray,  less  keen  and  eager,  but  showing  signs  of  blood 
and  breeding,  followed  by  three  blacks  whose  coats 
still  showed  glossy  in  spite  of  their  long  journey. 

Raimbaut  studied  each  one  carefully  as  it  passed 
him,  wondering  who  the  guests  could  be  who 
rode  such  noble  steeds.  As  his  eye  fell  upon  the 
last  horse,  he  caught  his  breath,  and  for  a  moment 
his  heart  stopped  beating.  Ever  since  the  sad 
night  when  he  had  plucked  the  little  tuft  of  hair 
from  between  the  fingers  of  his  father's  gauntlet,  he 
had  sought  to  find  that  horse  from  whose  mane  it 
had  been  torn.  Again  and  again  he  had  been 
startled  by  a  resemblance  which  in  the  end  proved 
delusive,  but  here  at  last  was  a  red  roan  concern- 

179 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

ing  which  he  was  certain  there  could  be  no  mistake. 
He  waited  by  the  doorway  while  the  horse  passed 
him  a  second  and  a  third  time.  It  stood  a  full 
hand  taller,  although  it  was  no  heavier,  than  an 
ordinary  destrier.  Every  line  of  its  body  indicated 
strength  and  speed.  Evidently  no  longer  young, 
there  was  something  about  the  assured  dignity  of 
its  gait  which  told  of  ancestry,  experience,  and 
careful  training.  In  spite  of  his  emotion,  Raimbaut 
could  not  fail  to  admire  the  magnificent  animal; 
and  when  the  horse  was  fastened  to  a  ring  in  the 
wall,  he  went  to  the  far  corner  and  watched  the 
groom  at  work.  The  latter  was  short  and  swarthy, 
evidently  very  proud  of  his  charge  and  quite  willing 
to  talk  about  him. 

"  It  is  a  splendid  horse  that  you  are  grooming," 
said  Raimbaut.  "  To  whom  does  he  belong?  " 

"  By  Saint  Isidore!"  replied  the  varlet,  "  there  is 
not  his  equal  in  all  Spain,  and  that  means  the  wide 
world;  for  nowhere  else  do  they  breed  such  perfect 
beasts.  He  was  purchased  by  my  master  in  Barce- 
lona from  a  Moor,  and  he  cost  the  price  of  a  king's 
ransom!" 

"  I  doubt  it  not,"  interrupted  Raimbaut,  "  but 
you  have  not  told  me  your  master's  name." 

"  It  is  Count  Berguedan,"  declared  the  varlet, 
proudly,  "  a  knight  of  Spain,  who  is,  like  his  horse, 
unrivalled.  He  will  break  a  lance  with  you  in  the 
morning,  and  sing  his  own  songs  by  the  fireside  at 
night.  He  will  match  himself  against  the  ablest 

180 


THE  RED  ROAN 

knight  in  Toulouse  and  the  best  troubadour  in 
Raimon's  palace,  and  make  them  both  ashamed." 

Although  Raimbaut  appeared  to  listen  while  the 
varlet  told  tale  after  tale  of  his  master's  prowess 
and  the  horse's  virtues,  he  heard  nothing  but  the 
name  of  Berguedan.  In  spite  of  his  aversion  to  the 
suave  Spaniard,  and  the  warning  of  Anselme,  Raim- 
baut had  never  thought  of  him  as  his  father's 
enemy.  Even  now,  he  could  scarcely  believe  it. 
He  waited  until  the  groom  was  stooping  over  a  fet- 
lock, and  then,  patting  the  arched  neck,  he  pulled 
from  the  mane  a  little  wisp  of  hair,  and  concealed 
it  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

A  moment  later  he  left  the  varlet  still  boasting  of 
the  horse's  virtues,  and  climbed  the  stairs  to  his 
room  in  the  tower.  It  was  with  trembling  fingers 
that  Raimbaut  opened  the  Book  of  Hours  and  took 
from  it  the  relic,  long  hidden  under  the  cover.  He 
placed  it  on  the  table  by  the  side  of  the  tuft  of  hair 
which  he  had  just  secured.  They  were  exactly 
alike!  There  was  not  the  least  room  for  doubt! 
The  red  roan  horse  in  the  courtyard  was  the  very 
same  that  was  ridden  by  Peirol's  assailant.  This 
assailant  must  have  been  Berguedan,  for  none  other 
would  be  permitted  to  take  the  horse  from  his  stable 
at  the  hour  of  dusk.  Yes,  the  proof  was  complete! 
As  the  certainty  of  the  evidence  established  itself  in 
his  mind,  Raimbaut  ceased  to  bend  over  the  two 
tufts  of  hair  lying  side  by  side  on  the  table.  He 
lifted  himself  to  his  full  height,  raised  his  clenched 

181 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

hands  above  his  head,  and  muttered  a  something, 
half  prayer  for  vengeance,  half  imprecation.  He  for- 
got his  oath  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  Saint 
Martin,  and  instead  of  love  for  all  the  world,  his 
heart  was  parched  with  its  fierce  thirst  for  revenge. 

He  resolved  that  by  his  hand  Berguedan  should 
suffer  for  his  injury  to  Peirol.  As  Raimbaut  thought 
of  the  long  years  of  madness  that  had  come  to  his 
father,  and  of  the  sorrow  which  had  hung  over  Vac- 
queiras  like  a  black  cloud,  he  determined  that  no 
punishment  could  be  too  severe,  no  suffering  too 
intense,  to  inflict  upon  the  cowardly  Spaniard.  He 
carefully  placed  the  tuft  of  hair  taken  from  Peirol's 
gauntlet  under  the  cover  of  the  Book  of  Hours,  and 
with  it  the  wisp  from  the  mane  of  the  red  roan 
which  he  had  secured  so  many  years  after.  Although 
Raimbaut  knew  that  even  now  every  one  was  at 
dinner,  he  did  not  dare  to  enter  the  great  hall,  for 
fear  he  should  betray  himself.  A  long  time  he 
paced  to  and  fro  in  his  room,  his  mind  busy  with 
plans,  none  of  which  seemed  quite  adequate  or  pos- 
sible to  carry  out.  It  was  mid-afternoon  before  he 
felt  quite  master  of  himself  and  decided  to  seek  out 
Berguedan. 

When  he  reached  the  courtyard,  he  found  it 
drenched  with  water,  and  although  the  rain  had  for 
the  moment  ceased,  he  saw  the  clouds  were  black  and 
threatening.  It  was  evident  that  all  the  household, 
and  the  guests  as  well,  would  be  gathered  in  the  great 
hall,  toward  which  Raimbaut  turned  his  steps.  No 

182 


THE  RED  ROAN 

one  noticed  his  entrance  as  he  walked  quietly  to  the 
recess  which  was  his  favorite  spot.  The  company  was 
gathered  about  the  hearth,  at  one  side  of  which  stood 
Berguedan.  From  his  place  of  vantage,  Raimbaut 
was  able  to  study  the  Spaniard,  without  danger  that 
his  close  observation  would  be  detected.  In  spite  of 
the  hatred  in  his  heart,  his  first  feeling,  as  he  gazed, 
was  one  of  admiration  for  his  enemy.  Taller  than 
any  man  in  the  hall,  magnificently  proportioned,  his 
attitude  was  full  of  grace  and  dignity.  The  firelight 
shone  on  features  almost  too  regular  and  on  lips  too 
often  parted  in  a  smile;  yet  he  seemed  at  all  points  the 
model  of  a  perfect  gallant.  He  was  bravely  appar- 
elled; his  fingers  were  loaded  with  rings,  and  the 
handle  of  his  dagger  was  bright  with  jewels.  By  his 
side  sat  Alazais,  over  whom  he  was(  bending  in  a 
manner  half  deferential,  half  caressing,  and  Raim- 
baut did  not  fail  to  notice  that  the  demoiselle  was 
gay  and  unrestrained  beyond  her  custom  as  she 
looked  up  into  the  Spaniard's  dark  eyes. 

He  was  interrupted  by  Count  Raimon  who  said,  — 

"  \^(hile  I  fear  to  weary  you,  I  cannot  deny  myself 

the  pleasure  of  hearing  one  more  song,  or  listening  to 

another  tale  from  your  lips.     It  is  long  since  we  have 

been  given  such  perfect  entertainment." 

Berguedan  expressed  gladness  that  his  "  poor 
talents  "  had  received  such  kind  recognition,  and, 
lifting  his  rebec  to  his  thigh,  he  struck  a  few  random 
chords  and  then  sang  the  same  song  that  Raimbaut 
had  heard  long  ago  at  Courthezon.  The  audience 

183 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

listened  spell-bound  to  the  sensuous  notes.  Even 
Raimbaut  was  overborne  and  carried  back  to  the 
Garden  of  Love  with  its  rippling  waters  and  tropical 
foliage.  He  could  see  plainly  again  the  rotund 
Count  with  his  bald  head  and  watery  eyes ;  he  could 
see  Guilhem  with  his  mocking  smile,  and  Touche 
watching  sullenly  from  the  shelter  of  the  hedge. 
Plainest  of  all  could  he  see  the  slender  figure  of  Loba 
in  her  robe  of  yellow  samite,  as  she  lay  stretched  full 
length  upon  the  grass.  He  remembered  the  dimples 
in  her  cheek,  the  kisses  she  had  given  him  in  the 
shadow  of  the  arras,  and  even  the  tale  she  had  told, 
her  clear  voice  accompanied  by  the  ripple  of  the 
fountain.  He  flushed  as  he  realized  the  meaning  of 
the  story  which  he  had  not  understood  that  day  at 
Courthezon. 

When  Berguedan  finished,  and  the  applause  had 
died  away,  Count  Raimon  spoke  to  him,  and  Alazais, 
no  longer  preoccupied  with  the  handsome  Spaniard, 
discovered  Raimbaut  seated  in  the  recess.  With  a 
smile  of  recognition,  she  threaded  her  way  through 
the  little  group  clustered  around  the  fireside,  and  went 
to  him. 

"  Is  he  not  wonderful?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Did 
you  ever  hear  anything  more  beautiful  than  that  song 
of  Catalonia?  And  yet  it  is  said  that  this  same 
Berguedan  won  the  golden  cup  at  the  tournament  at 
Polignac,  tumbling  even  the  sullen  Heraclius  in  the 
dust." 

"He  is  indeed  a  famous  troubadour,"  replied  Raim- 

184 


THE   RED   ROAN 

baut,  whose  hatred  had  returned  as  the  last  note  of 
the  song  ended,  and  with  it,  the  spell  of  the  musician. 

"  But  it  is  the  man  himself  that  I  most  admire," 
declared  Alazais.  "Is  he  not  a  model  for  every 
youth  ambitious  to  succeed  as  a  knight  and  a 
singer?" 

"  Truly,"  answered  Raimbaut,  "  though  I  confess 
there  is  much  that  I  might  learn  from  him,  yet  I 
would  choose  some  other  than  Messire  Berguedan  for 
my  pattern.  I  do  not  give  much  credence  to  idle 
tales;  but  unless  he  is  much  maligned,  the  Spaniard 
has  allowed  himself  more  license  than  is  right  for  a 
knight  mindful  of  his  vow." 

"  I  believe  not  one  of  them.  Only  a  few  minutes 
ago  I  told  him  of  my  belief  that  courtly  love  should 
be  divorced  from  passion.  In  everything  did  he 
agree  with  me,  and  he  spoke  most  beautifully  con- 
cerning his  own  struggle  to  attain  the  '  perfect 
poise.'  ' 

"  I'  faith,"  said  Raimbaut,  a  little  bitterly,  "  I 
have  a  knowledge  of  Messire  Berguedan  which  is 
more  than  hearsay.  I  pray  you,  ask  me  not  to  join 
you  ki  the  praise  of  this  man.  May  we  not  talk  of 
something  more  pleasing  to  us  both?  " 

As  Raimbaut  spoke,  Alazais  looked  at  him  first 
with  wonder,  and  then  with  an  expression  of  disap- 
pointment, almost  of  disdain.  She  studied  him 
keenly  with  her  bright  eyes,  and  inquired  with  a  toss 
of  her  head,  — 

"  Are  you  jealous?     Then  I  must  do  my  best  to 

185 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

drive  away  the  frown  which  has  cut  two  new  furrows 
in  your  brow." 

At  this  Raimbaut  could  not  but  smile,  and  a  few 
moments  later  their  heads  were  very  close  together  as 
they  bent  over  the  table.  Alazais  had  for  a  long  time 
been  striving  earnestly  to  paint  a  picture  on  a  disk 
of  ivory.  She  had  selected  the  face  of  Saint  Love, 
every  line  of  which  she  had  labored  patiently  to  copy. 
Most  of  all  she  had  been  troubled  to  reproduce  the 
dark  brown  hair,  which  at  the  beginning  was  too 
glossy  and  too  opaque.  Having  triumphed  over  this, 
she  had  struggled  to  catch  the  serene  expression  of  the 
mouth  which  had  baffled  her.  To-day,  however,  she 
succeeded  so  well  that  Raimbaut  praised  her  until  her 
cheeks  flushed  with  pleasure.  They  were  so  intent  over 
the  work  that  they  did  not  hear  a  footstep,  until  they 
discovered  Berguedan  looking  over  their  shoulders. 

"  My  lady  Alazais,"  said  he,  his  rich  voice  express- 
ive of  the  deepest  admiration,  "  your  touch  is  wonder- 
ful. You  are  indeed  a  true  artist.  I  know  of  but 
one  that  can  equal  you,  and  she  is  a  pale  nun  in  a 
convent,  perched  among  the  hills  above  Barcelona. 
It  is  said  she  sought  the  cloister  after  a  disappoint- 
ment in  love,  and  all  her  soul  is  given  to  the  making 
of  pictures  like  this.  Truly,  I  must  congratulate  you." 

As  he  spoke,  Raimbaut  stood  erect  and  faced  him 
with  an  expression  difficult  to  fathom.  Alazais  also 
rose,  and  acknowledging  the  Spaniard's  compli- 
ments, was  about  to  introduce  Raimbaut  to  him, 
when  Berguedan  interposed. 

186 


THE  RED  ROAN 

"  It  is  not  necessary,  my  fair  hostess,  to  present 
Messire  Raimbaut.  We  were  great  friends  at  Cour- 
thezon,  and  though  four  years  have  passed  and  he 
has  grown  to  be  a  fine  young  man,  I  have  not  for- 
gotten him." 

He  was  cordial,  but  patronizing,  with  an  air  of  a 
man  of  the  world  condescending  to  notice  one  of  less 
experience.  Convinced  as  Raimbaut  was  that  the 
suave  Spaniard  had  been  Peirol's  treacherous  assail- 
ant, it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  spoke  a  few  formal 
words  of  greeting.  Alazais  did  not  notice  his  con- 
straint, however,  and  turning  to  Berguedan,  she 
said,  — 

"  I  must  tell  you  that  Messire  Raimbaut,  since  he 
came  to  Toulouse,  has  found  for  us  many  beautiful 
songs  of  which  we  are  very  proud.  Indeed,  I  believe 
my  father  would  have  offered  him  his  golden  spurs  a 
year  ago,  had  he  not  been  restrained  by  a  selfish  fear 
that  in  doing  so  he  should  lose  him  as  his  squire." 

"  Truly,"  declared  Berguedan,  "  I  am  pleased  to 
hear  you  speak  so  well  of  him.  I  am  an  old  friend  of 
his  father,  for  whose  affliction  I  have  often  grieved. 
I  am  also  glad  to  see  that  Messire  Raimbaut  has 
been  true  to  his  vow  and  still  wears  his  severed 
mantle." 

At  the  claim  of  fellowship  with  the  man  whom  he 
had  so  treacherously  assailed,  Raimbaut's  resent- 
ment increased ;  and  when  his  vow  was  spoken  of  by 
one  who  respected  neither  love  nor  friendship,  his 
face  flushed  with  anger.  Berguedan  took  the  book 

187 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

from  the  table  and  examined  the  miniatures  with  the 
air  of  a  connoisseur. 

"  Are  they  not  beautiful?  "  asked  Alazais. 

"  They  are  not  at  all  bad,"  replied  Berguedan. 
"  Amfos  of  Barcelona  has  the  finest  collection  of 
missals  and  breviaries  that  can  be  found  outside  the 
papal  palace  at  Rome.  I  wonder  if  he  would  like 
this  little  Book  of  Hours?  It  has  but  six  miniatures, 
yet  they  are  well  done  and  the  first  page  is  unique  in 
its  design  and  treatment.  I  think  it  will  be  safe  for 
me  to  purchase  it.  What  is  the  price?  " 

"  I  will  not  part  with  it,"  answered  Raimbaut,  so 
curtly  that  Alazais  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  No?  "  said  Berguedan  questioningly,  as  he  turned 
the  leaves.  "  I  well  remember  that  my  purse  was 
always  empty  when  I  was  a  squire.  I  am  certain  I 
should  have  exchanged  a  Book  of  Hours  for  a  hundred 
deniers." 

"  As  I  have  already  told  you,"  replied  Raimbaut, 
"  I  will  not  part  with  it." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  do  not  care  to  sell  it  for  one  hun- 
dred deniers,"  said  Berguedan,  "  and  I  will  give  you 
twice  the  sum,  which  is  surely  more  than  the  value  of 
the  Book." 

"  Again  I  tell  you  that  it  is  not  for  sale,"  declared 
Raimbaut,  with  difficulty  restraining  his  anger. 
"  Amfos  of  Barcelona  has  not  gold  enough  in  his 
coffers  to  purchase  one  leaf  of  it!  " 

Berguedan  had  not  quite  succeeded  in  concealing 
his  eagerness  from  Raimbaut's  searching  eyes.  His 

188 


THE  RED   ROAN 

suspicion  was  aroused  at  the  Spaniard's  trembling 
fingers.  Why  did  he  value  it  so  highly?  Raim- 
baut  could  not  tell. 

"  I  confess  I  am  disappointed,"  declared  the  other. 
"Think  the  matter  over,  and  if  you  decide  to  dispose 
of  it  at  a  little  higher  price,  you  must  not  fail  to  tell 
me.  May  I  see  the  binding?  There  seems  to  be  some 
unique  carving  under  the  cover." 

While  he  spoke,  and  before  Raimbaut  could  hinder 
him,  the  Spaniard  slipped  the  folded  parchment  from 
the  Book.  As  he  did  so,  there  fell  upon  the  table  the 
two  strange  wisps  of  red  roan  hair.  At  first  he  did 
not  see  them,  for  his  eyes  were  glued  upon  the 
medallion  of  Saint  Martin,  but  when  his  glance  wan- 
dered to  the  table,  he  started,  and  turned  to  Raim- 
baut. Up  to  this  moment,  he  had  been  easy,  unre- 
strained and  confident,  but  now,  as  if  a  mask  had 
been  placed  before  his  features,  he  became  in  an 
instant  secretive,  defiant.  Raimbaut  was  pale  with 
suppressed  emotion,  his  eyes  like  searching  flames. 
When  at  last  he  broke  the  silence,  it  was  to  Alazais 
he  turned  as  he  pointed  to  a  tuft  of  hair  upon  the 
table  a.nd  said,  - 

11  You  will  remember  that  I  told  you  on  this  very 
spot,  nearly  four  years  ago,  that  I  kept  this  relic  in 
memory  of  a  crime  and  as  a  proof  of  treachery.  It 
was  taken  from  between  the  fingers  of  my  father's 
gauntlet  on  the  night  when  he  received  the  foul  blow 
that  made  him  witless.  This  other  by  its  side,  I 
plucked  with  my  own  hand  to-day  from  the  mane  of 

189 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Messire  Berguedan's  red  roan  destrier,  which  is  even 
now  standing  in  the  stables." 

Raimbaut  had  scarce  finished,  and  indeed  was 
about  to  charge  Berguedan  directly  with  the  crime, 
when  the  Spaniard  interposed.  On  his  face  there 
was  no  shadow  of  guilt,  and  he  spoke  without  the 
least  accent  of  anger  or  resentment,  as  if  in  answer 
to  a  petulant  child. 

"  I  am  willing  to  excuse  an  affront  from  Messire 
Raimbaut,  remembering  his  youth,  the  suffering  of 
his  father,  and  my  old  friendship  for  him.  More 
than  this,  I  am  willing  to  explain  where  I  should 
resent,  did  I  not  recognize  the  sincerity  of  the 
young  man,  and  some  slight  foundation  for  his  sus- 
picions in  the  likeness  between  the  two  tufts  of 
hair.  I  was,  I  admit,  at  Courthezon  at  the  time 
that  Peirol  received  his  hurt.  The  red  roan,  then  a 
colt,  I  left  with  a  farmer  where  the  horse  could  get 
green  pasture,  for  he  was  too  young  to  be  useful  in 
the  lists.  I  speak  frankly,  concealing  nothing,  in 
the  hope  that  we  may  find  a  clue  to  the  cowardly 
assailant.  Whether  some  wicked  knight  bribed  the 
farmer  and  rode  the  horse  on  his  evil  errand,  hoping 
thus  to  conceal  his  own  identity,  I  cannot  tell. 
Perhaps  Peirol,  riding  about  the  country,  got  the 
mane  entangled  in  his  gauntlet  as  he  patted  the 
horse's  neck.  This  is  not  unlikely.  Whatever 
the  truth,  I  am  sure  you  will  believe  me  when  I 
swear  I  am  guiltless  of  any  part  or  lot  in  this 
treacherous  deed." 


RAIMBAUT   WAS   PALE   WITH   SUPPRESSED   EMOTION 


THE   RED   ROAN 

The  Spaniard  spoke  so  plausibly  and  with  such 
an  air  of  innocence  that  Alazais,  who  had  listened 
to  them  both,  and  to  whom  they  had  both  appealed, 
considered  for  a  moment,  and  then,  turning  from 
Raimbaut  with  an  expression  of  mingled  scorn  and 
pity,  said,  — 

"  I  am  sorry  that  any  guest  should  suffer  from 
such  an  indignity  in  my  father's  palace.  I  am 
doubly  grieved  that  the  injured  one  should  be  a 
famous  knight  and  troubadour  whose  presence  we 
so  highly  value.  More  than  all  else  do  I  regret  that 
Messire  Raimbaut,  in  whom  I  have  placed  a  special 
confidence,  should  so  far  forget  himself  as  to  be 
guilty  of  the  affront.  I  am  sure  he  already  looks 
upon  his  conduct  with  shame,  and,  upon  reflection, 
will  make  reparation  by  a  prompt  apology.  Shall 
we  leave  him  to  his  thoughts  and  join  my  father  at 
the  fireside?  " 

Scarce  looking  at  Raimbaut,  Alazais  took  her 
departure,  followed  by  Berguedan,  who  did  not  con- 
ceal a  glance  both  malicious  and  triumphant. 

Raimbaut  replaced  the  cover  on  the  Book  of 
Hours  with  the  tufts  of  hair  resting  side  by  side, 
put  it  into  the  pocket  of  his  tunic,  and  went  out 
into  the  courtvard,  not  knowing  whither  he  walked. 


CHAPTER  XV 

BERGUEDAN   THE   CATALONIAN 

FOR  the  first  week  of  his  stay  at  Toulouse,  Ber- 
guedan  basked  in  the  warm  sunlight  of  popular 
favor.  Only  Bernart  was  unsympathetic,  and  his 
dislike  was  ascribed  to  a  very  natural  jealousy,  for 
the  old  troubadour  was  almost  neglected.  The 
squires,  too,  received  scant  attention,  and  to  Ber- 
guedan  alone  the  court  was  eager  to  listen. 

An  added  dignity  was  given  to  the  Spaniard's 
visit,  from  the  fact  that  he  was  an  envoy  of  Amfos 
of  Aragon,  who,  next  to  Raimon,  was  the  most  gen- 
erous patron  of  the  troubadour  art.  For  this 
reason,  Berguedan's  reception  was  doubly  cordial, 
and  his  entertainment  lavish  beyond  the  custom  of 
the  munificent  Count  of  Toulouse.  The  Spaniard 
came  with  the  prestige  of  a  treaty  just  arranged 
between  his  master  and  Louis  of  France,  and  it 
was  whispered  that  he  planned  to  negotiate  with 
Raimon  also  for  an  alliance. 

At  the  beginning,  everything  seemed  propitious, 
and  the  ambassador  rode  on  the  top  wave  of  pop- 
ularity. Miraval  and  Folquet  imitated  both  his 
songs  and  manner,  and  even  Bernart  admitted  that, 
although  the  Spaniard  was  over-fervid  and  spec- 
tacular, there  was  much  to  learn  from  him  in  the 
way  of  dramatic  action  and  vocal  interpretation. 

192 


BERGUEDAN  THE  CATALONIAN 

So  Berguedan  ruffled  it  bravely  about  the  palace, 
impressing  the  ladies  with  his  air  of  gallantry,  dis- 
tributing a  word  here  and  glance  of  devotion  there 
as  if  they  were  royal  largess.  His  assumption  of 
superiority  was  so  natural  that  it  was  not  ques- 
tioned, and  his  patronage  so  graceful  that  for  a 
time  it  did  not  give  offence.  Even  Raimbaut  was 
not  openly  antagonistic,  though  only  closed  lips 
could  restrain  the  bitter  word,  and  clenched  hands 
the  angry  blow.  He  did  not  fail  to  notice  that,  in 
spite  of  the  ever-present  smile  on  the  Catalonian's 
face,  his  eyes  were  always  sinister. 

On  the  very  day  of  his  meeting  with  the  Spaniard, 
Raimbaut  had  shown  Bernart  the  tuft  of  hair,  and 
told  him  of  his  experience.  He  had  reached  the 
room  drenched  to  the  skin,  for  he  had  stood  like  a 
post  in  the  courtyard,  heeding  not  the  April  shower. 
As  he  drew  the  wet  mantle  from  his  shoulders,  his 
fingers  had  come  in  contact  with  the  frayed  corner, 
but  the  touch  brought  to  him  no  memory  of  his 
vow.  Bernart  had  listened  patiently  to  the  very 
end.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  full  of  mingled 
sympathy  and  warning :  — 

"  I  have  little  doubt  of  the  Spaniard's  guilt;  yet 
only  God  knows  the  whole  truth.  Leave  the  pun- 
ishment to  Him." 

"  But,"  replied  Raimbaut,  smiling  bitterly,  "  this 
villain  has  been  permitted  to  walk  the  earth  in  joy 
and  comfort  for  eight  long  years,  while  my  poor 
father  has  been  suffering  at  Vacqueiras." 

193 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

"  Yet  God  does  not  forget,"  declared  Bernart. 
"  I  have  seen  so  many  plans  for  human  vengeance 
miscarry,  that  I  have  come  to  doubt  them  all. 
Have  you  no  thought  of  your  consecration  to  a  life 
of  love?" 

"  When  Heaven  itself  smiles  upon  the  guilty,  it 
can  be  no  sin  for  man  to  avenge  a  foul  wrong.  Even 
the  saint  to  whom  I  have  sworn  devotion  has  not 
interposed.  By  the  Heaven  in  which  I  still  trust  in 
spite  of  its  neglect,  I  will  wring  the  neck  of  this 
fiend,  though  the  Devil,  his  master,  stand  by  his 
side." 

He  spoke  with  such  intensity  of  feeling,  that  for 
a  moment  Bernart  was  silent,  and  then  said  again 
very  solemnly,  — 

"  To  God,  who  makes  no  mistake,  leave  the  pun- 
ishment of  the  wicked." 

Raimbaut  made  no  reply,  but  went  about  with 
a  gloomy  brow.  He  looked  forward  eagerly  to  the 
return  of  Bonifaz,  who  was  absent  on  a  visit  to  Polig- 
nac,  for  in  this  crisis  it  was  his  bosom  friend  to  whom 
he  could  best  go  for  advice.  Although  the  young 
Count  of  Monferrat  was  now  a  knight,  the  receipt 
of  his  golden  spurs  had  only  strengthened  the 
friendship  between  himself  and  Raimbaut,  and  they 
planned  brave  deeds  when,  side  by  side,  they  should 
ride  out  into  the  world  as  comrades-in-arms. 

The  change  in  Raimbaut  was  so  pronounced  that 
every  one  at  the  palace  wondered.  They  saw  no 
longer  the  young  man  with  a  pleasant  word  and  a 

194 


BERGUEDAN  THE  CATALONIAN 

hand  ever  ready  to  do  a  kindly  act.  He  became  so 
moody  and  reserved  that  one  day  Miraval  whispered 
his  belief  that  Raimbaut  had  inherited  Peirol's 
sullen  madness,  and  was  going  in  the  same  path  as 
his  father. 

It  was  with  Alazais,  however,  that  Raimbaut's 
experience  was  most  trying  and  most  bitter.  The 
little  demoiselle  summoned  him  to  the  recess  in  the 
great  hall  on  the  morning  after  his  meeting  with 
Berguedan.  She  was  very  friendly,  very  sympa- 
thetic, and  she  talked  with  him  as  kindly  as  if  there 
were  no  cloud  over  their  fondness.  On  one  thing 
only  she  insisted,  and  that  was  that  Raimbaut  should 
make  a  proper  apology  to  the  guest  he  had  offended. 
This  Raimbaut  firmly  declined  to  do.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  he  had  disobeyed  her  and  Alazais  was 
deeply  hurt.  For  his  own  sake,  she  was  anxious 
that  he  should  do  what  was  right,  and  she  labored 
patiently  to  convince  him  of  his  duty.  It  was  only 
after  a  long  hour  that  she  began  to  despair.  Sadly 
she  exclaimed,  — 

"  To  think  that  after  all  these  years  our  friend- 
ship should  be  jeopardized  by  such  a  trivial  thing! 
It  is  useless  to  argue  with  you.  Give  me  your  last 
word." 

"  My  last  word,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  is  that  I 
cannot  act  the  hypocrite,  nor  pretend  aught  but 
hatred  toward  this  Spanish  villain." 

Alazais'  patience,  already  sorely  tried,  gave 
way. 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

"'Villain,'  say  you!  Messire  Berguedan  is  the 
most  famous  troubadour  of  Spain,  and  a  knight  re- 
nowned through  all  the  world  for  his  prowess  in  the 
lists." 

"  I  grant  you  this,  and  more.  He  is  no  less 
famous  as  a  libertine,  without  conscience  toward 
God,  without  respect  for  women,  without  honor 
among  men." 

"  You  speak  but  hearsay,"  declared  Alazais,  with 
disdain,  "  you  who  have  not  yet  won  the  right  to  be 
called  either  troubadour  or  knight." 

"  Though  I  have  accomplished  little  good,  no 
harm  have  I  done.  At  least  my  life  is  clean.  There 
is  not  the  mark  of  the  beast  on  my  face.  Only  last 
night  this  Spanish  gentleman  denned  a  virtuous 
woman  as  '  one  who  lacks  opportunity  ' !  In  the 
armory,  before  a  score  of  knights  and  squires,  he 
boasted  that  there  was  no  woman  in  wide  Provence 
able  to  resist  him;  yet  not  a  man  rose  to  challenge 
him  for  the  honor  of  his  sister,  wife  or  sweetheart! 
I  should  have  smitten  him  on  his  lying  mouth  had  it 
not  been  for  the  fear  of  increasing  your  disfavor, 
already  heavy  upon  me." 

Here  Alazais  interrupted,  but  Raimbaut  would  not 
be  silenced. 

"  His  least  touch  is  profanation;  yet  when  he  greets 
you,  his  lips  linger  longer  and  longer  on  your  cheek." 

"  It  is  but  the  common  kiss  of  courtesy,"  replied 
she,  indignantly. 

"  A  kiss  of  courtesy  it  may  seem  to  you,  yet  to  him 
196 


BERGUEDAN  THE  CATALONIAN 

it  is  something  more.  I  have  seen  the  passion  in  his 
eyes.  When  he  lifts  you  to  your  saddle,  his  hand 
clings  to  your  foot.  When  he  adjusts  your  robe,  his 
fingers  touch  your  knee.  You  notice  it  not,  for  your 
heart  is  too  pure  to  understand.  Yet  I  predict  that 
some  day  you  will  think  with  shame  of  every  glance 
you  have  exchanged  with  him." 

"  You  are  mad  with  jealousy!  "  declared  Alazais, 
rising  to  her  feet. 

"  I  do  not  deny  that  I  am  watchful  of  you  as  I  would 
be  of  a  sister,  were  she  in  the  presence  of  this  satyr," 
replied  Raimbaut.  "  Be  on  your  guard  against  him! 
If  you  trust  not  me,  ask  Bernart  what  he  thinks  of 
the  beast  you  have  championed." 

"Enough!"  cried  Alazais,  her  face  ablaze  with 
anger.  "  You  warn  me  as  if  I  were  a  tire-maiden  or  a 
peasant-girl.  The  daughter  of  the  Count  of  Toulouse 
needs  no  teacher  of  manners,  and  no  guide  as  to  what 
honor  demands  of  her." 

With  these  words  she  left  Raimbaut,  and  he  knew 
that  he  had  only  deepened  the  shadow  which  hung 
over  him.  So  the  days  passed,  and  although  they 
were  both  sick  at  heart,  neither  made  any  effort 
toward  reconciliation.  Each  went  a  separate  way, 
Raimbaut  avoiding  not  Alazais  alone,  but  his  enemy 
as  well,  being  doubtful  of  his  power  of  self-restraint. 

There  were  signs  that  the  Catalonian's  popularity 
was  on  the  wane.  He  had  been  too  invariably  suc- 
cessful with  the  dice  not  to  cause  resentment.  At 
first  abstemious,  each  night  he  drank  deeper,  and 

197 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

became  more  coarse  and  boisterous.  More  than 
aught  else  did  he  offend  through  his  gallantries. 
Husbands  became  less  complaisant,  and  lovers  be- 
gan to  mutter  angrily  under  their  breath.  Only 
the  favor  in  which  he  stood  with  Raimon  protected 
him.  Even  this  was  questioned,  when  the  black 
frown  on  Berguedan's  brow  and  the  expression  of 
weariness  on  the  pale  face  of  the  Count,  hinted  that 
the  Spaniard  was  not  succeeding  in  his  mission. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Raimbaut  one  day  dis- 
covered Miguel,  Berguedan's  giant  squire,  ill-treat- 
ing Guilhem.  He  had  the  little  fellow's  slender  wrist 
in  his  huge  hand  and  was  twisting  it,  vastly  amused 
at  the  boy's  writhings.  At  the  sight,  Raimbaut's 
smouldering  anger  burst  into  flame.  He  seized  a 
helmet,  and  threw  it  with  such  true  aim  that  it  struck 
Miguel  on  the  side  of  the  head,  felling  him  to  the 
floor;  and  it  was  a  half-hour  before  the  bully  quite 
regained  consciousness.  The  Spanish  men-at-arms 
grew  more  and  more  out  of  hand,  and  scarce  a  day 
passed  without  some  brawl. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  week,  Berguedan  was  him- 
self guilty  of  a  most  undiplomatic  act  which  deeply 
offended  Count  Raimon.  The  Spaniard  knew  well  the 
story  of  Raimon's  injury  and  his  aversion  to  all  con- 
tests in  the  lists;  yet  one  day  he  donned  full  armor, 
mounted  his  red  roan  destrier,  and  rode  into  the  tilt- 
yard  before  a  little  knot  of  spectators  gathered  on 
the  weather-stained  seats.  Up  and  down  the  lists  he 
galloped,  stopping  in  an  instant,  and  whirling  about 


BERGUEDAN  THE  CATALONIAN 

as  if  on  a  pivot.  A  whisper,  a  touch  of  the  hand,  or 
the  pressure  of  a  knee,  was  sufficient  guidance.  The 
horse  would  stand  as  if  carved  in  stone,  or  would  come 
at  his  master's  call  and  follow  at  heel  like  a  dog. 
Most  wonderful  of  all,  Berguedan,  having  filled  a 
flagon  with  wine,  held  it  high  above  his  head,  and 
rode  at  half-speed  through  the  long  grass :  yet  so  easy 
was  the  gait  of  the  red  roan  that  not  a  drop  was 
spilled!  Great  was  the  admiration  of  the  knights 
and  squires,  who  could  well  understand  that,  with  a 
destrier  so  perfect,  the  Catalonian  was  able  to  place 
his  lance- thrust  where  he  willed. 

The  very  day  after  his  exhibition  of  skill,  Bergue- 
dan went  to  bathe  in  the  river.  He  was  returning 
to  the  palace,  following  a  winding  path  through  the 
woods,  when  he  suddenly  came  face  to  face  with  a 
very  pretty  maid.  She  was  evidently  a  laundress, 
for  with  her  walked  Jacques,  carrying  a  huge  bundle 
of  soiled  linen  on  his  head.  Berguedan  stepped  aside 
to  allow  Jacques  to  pass,  for  the  path  was  narrow. 
The  comely  Marie  had  courtesied  pleasantly  and 
was  passing  also,  when  she  found  her  way  barred  by 
the  Catalonian. 

"  Not  so  fast,  my  little  beauty!  I  must  tell  you 
that  good  Count  Raimon  has  appointed  me  keeper  of 
this  path,  with  power  to  impose  toll :  to  wit,  one  kiss 
from  every  wench  who  passes!  " 

At  this  Marie,  placing  her  hands  upon  her  hips, 
looked  up  at  the  huge  cavalier  with  a  flash  of  fire  in 
her  black  eyes,  tossed  her  head,  and  replied,  — 

199 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  You  must  show  me  your  parchment  with  the 
grand  seal  of  Toulouse.  I  would  rather  kiss  your  red 
roan,  which  has  a  handsomer  mouth  than  you." 

The  words  were  scarcely  spoken  when  Berguedan 
caught  her  in  his  arms.  Jacques  threw  his  bundle  of 
linen  on  the  ground,  but  before  he  could  interfere  by 
word  or  act,  the  Spaniard  gave  a  cry  of  pain,  and 
Marie,  tearing  herself  from  the  loosened  grasp,  ran 
swiftly  down  the  path,  only  turning  when  she  had 
reached  a  safe  distance. 

"Ha!  Ha!  Messire  Toll-Taker!"  she  cried, 
laughing  mockingly.  "  Instead  of  a  kiss  I  have  left 
marks  on  your  face  which  will  be  a  warning  to  all 
maids  who  come  after.  If  they  pay  the  same  toll  as 
I,  you  will  think  a  tournament  child's  play  compared 
with  toll-taking!" 

Her  victory  was  so  complete  that  her  assailant  con- 
tented himself  with  cursing  her  as  a  "  cat,  whose 
claws  should  be  cut  by  the  headsman."  Indeed,  Ber- 
guedan was  in  a  sad  plight,  for  Marie  had  buried  her 
sharp  nails  so  deeply  in  his  cheek  and  drawn  them  so 
fiercely  through,  that  she  had  left  four  red  scratches 
from  which  the  blood  streamed.  In  spite  of  careful 
nursing,  the  marks  on  his  face  were  plainly  evident 
when  he  appeared  at  supper.  Alazais  was  the  first 
to  notice  them  and  express  solicitude. 

"It  is  a  mere  nothing,"  replied  Berguedan.  "  I 
was  lifting  my  hauberk  from  its  place  on  the  wall 
when  it  slipped,  and  the  steel  links  tore  these  furrows. 
I  am  properly  punished  for  my  awkwardness." 

200 


BERGUEDAN  THE   CATALONIAN 

"  A  pretty  tale  it  is,"  declared  a  young  chatelaine 
at  the  end  of  the  table,  "but  I  have  seen  such  marks 
before!  I  will  wager  my  best  girdle  against  your 
baldric  that  nought  but  a  maid's  finger-nails  made 
them." 

There  were  suppressed  smiles  in  which  even  Rai- 
mon  joined,  and  a  tall  young  knight  by  the  side  of  the 
little  chatelaine  laughed  heartily,  until  he  caught  the 
fierce  glance  of  Berguedan.  The  latter  had  risen  to 
his  feet;  his  voice  trembled  with  anger, — 

"  I  have  stated  that  the  scratches  on  my  face  were 
made  by  the  links  of  a  hauberk.  I  hope  I  am  too 
good  a  courtier  to  take  offence  at  a  lady's  merry  jest; 
but  if  there  be  any  man  here  who  contradicts  me,  I 
warn  him  he  shall  find  use  for  his  sword,  instead  of 
wearing  it  as  an  ornament  —  the  custom  of  Toulouse. 

To  this  the  knight  made  no  reply,  for  however 
eager  he  might  be  to  face  the  Spaniard,  he  feared  to 
brawl  in  the  presence  of  Raimon.  And  yet  the  Count 
was  strangely  quiet;  he  said  not  a  word  to  smooth 
the  controversy.  It  was  Alazais  who  made  apologies 
to  their  angry  guest,  and  who  devoted  herself  assidu- 
ously to  make  him  forget  his  resentment.  Indeed,  it 
was  she  who,  when  the  last  course  was  served,  com- 
plained of  the  heat  and  suggested  that  Berguedan 
should  walk  with  her  in  the  garden. 

They  had  just  vanished  through  the  doorway  when 
Bonifaz  entered  the  hall.  Every  one  was  happy  to 
see  the  young  Count  of  Monferrat,  and  cordial  was 
the  greeting  which  he  received  from  Raimon. 

201 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

"  I  am  well  pleased  to  have  you  return  to  Tou- 
louse," declared  the  Count.  "  I  hear  that  you  won 
great  honor  in  the  lists  at  Polignac,  but  I  hope  you 
will  not  be  discontented  in  my  peaceful  court.  You 
shall  tell  me  of  your  adventures.  Let  us  go  into  the 
garden,  and  Raimbaut  with  us,  which  will  save  the 
labor  of  a  double  telling." 

The  sun  had  set,  the  shadows  were  beginning  to 
gather,  but  the  sky  and  the  river  still  reflected  the 
dying  light.  They  had  hardly  taken  a  dozen  steps 
and  Bonifaz  had  barely  started  his  recital,  when  he 
was  silenced  by  a  shrill  cry  from  the  far  corner  of 
the  garden.  It  was  a  strange,  almost  inarticulate 
call,  and  at  the  sound,  Raimbaut  sprang  forward, 
followed  closely  by  Raimon  and  Bonifaz.  It  was  but 
a  few  steps  to  a  seat  beneath  the  arching  branches. 
Here  they  found  Alazais,  her  face  distorted  with  rage 
and  disgust,  wiping  her  lips  with  her  hand  as  if  some 
deadly  poison  were  upon  them.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  path  stood  Berguedan,  his  hand  upon  his  dagger, 
his  attitude  one  of  mingled  shame  and  defiance. 

Raimon  was  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  What  has  happened?  "  he  asked,  looking  from 
one  to  the  other. 

Berguedan,  ever  ready,  was  about  to  reply,  when 
Alazais,  with  a  gesture  of  utter  loathing,  broke  in,  — 

"  He  has  embraced  me!  He  has  pressed  his  lips 
to  mine!  Would  I  could  wash  them  with  hyssop! 
One  thing  only  can  atone  for  my  dishonor.  This 
beast  must  die!  Who  will  kill  him  for  me?  " 

202 


BERGUEDAN  THE  CATALONIAN 

"  I  claim  the  right,"  cried  Raimbaut  eagerly;  and 
forestalling  Bonifaz,  he  struck  Berguedan  full  in  the 
face  with  his  clenched  hand. 

The  Spaniard's  smile  changed  to  a  scowl  of  deadly 
hatred.  He  whitened  to  the  lips. 

"  By  the  blood  of  Christ!  "  he  stammered,  "  you 
crow  lustily,  my  little  cock,  knowing  right  well  that 
your  station  protects  you  from  my  sword.  Were  you 
knight,  instead  of  a  starveling  squire,  I  would  gladly 
spit  you  like  a  fat  squab  on  the  point  of  my  lance. 
Your  master  will  exempt  you  from  the  punishment 
which  would  follow  at  any  court  other  than  this 
nunnery  of  Toulouse!  " 

The  blood  rushed  into  Raimon's  pallid  face  until 
the  veins  in  his  forehead  seemed  like  to  burst:  a 
startling  anger  in  one  so  gentle.  He  sprang  at  Ber- 
guedan as  if  he  would  have  struck  him,  and  three 
times  he  tried  to  speak,  but  rage  choked  him.  At  last 
he  said  almost  in  a  whisper,  - 

"  I  would  not  forget  what  is  proper  between  host 
and  guest,  nor  measure  with  a  grudging  hand  the 
courtesy  due  you,  Count  Berguedan.  For  two  long 
weeks  I  have  declined  with  unwearying  civility  the 
persistent  demands  made  upon  me.  You  have 
hinted  that  I  lack  courage,  and  that  I  turn  a  deaf 
ear  to  the  call  of  friendship  because  I  side  not  with 
Louis  against  Henry  of  England.  Were  my  hand 
strong  enough  to  handle  lance  and  sword,  I  should 
challenge  you  here  in  the  garden  where  we  stand." 
'  Yet  Toulouse  lacks  not  a  knight  to  champion 
203 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

her,"  declared  Bonifaz,  who  had  been  restraining 
himself  with  difficulty  while  his  master  spoke.  He 
was  about  to  defy  Berguedan  with  his  glove,  when 
Raimbaut  caught  the  uplifted  arm. 

"  No,  Bonifaz!  This  is  my  quarrel.  None  shall 
take  it  from  me." 

He  turned  to  Count  Raimon. 

"  Eight  years  have  passed  since  this  villain  struck 
the  blow  that  made  my  father  witless.  I  have  sure 
proof  of  his  guilt.  I  declare  it  openly.  I  call  upon 
the  judgment  of  God  to  prove  me  right  or  wrong  by 
the  test  of  arms." 

He  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before  his  master. 
For  a  moment  only  Count  Raimon  hesitated;  then 
he  struck  the  bent  neck  of  the  squire  with  his 
clenched  hand. 

"  Raimbaut  of  Vacqueiras,  with  this  blow  I  dub 
thee  knight!  Prove  always  brave  and  true." 

He  had  hardly  finished  when  Raimbaut  rose  to  his 
feet  and  gave  Berguedan  so  fierce  a  buffet  that  the 
blood  spurted  from  the  Spaniard's  mouth  and  he 
staggered  against  the  hedge. 

"  The  last  was  a  blow  from  the  hand  of  a  knight," 
cried  Raimbaut  eagerly.  '  You  have  no  choice. 
You  cannot  deny  me  now." 

"  By  the  nails  of  the  Rood!  I  have  no  dearer 
wish  than  to  find  you  within  reach  of  my  sword," 
growled  Berguedan.  "  I  will  meet  you  to-morrow 
in  the  tilt-yard,  an  hour  after  the  rising  of  the  sun. 
Twice  have  you  struck  me.  You  shall  not  live  to 

204 


BERGUEDAN  THE  CATALONIAN 

boast  of  it.  Twice  have  you  accused  me  of  treach- 
erous attack  upon  your  father,  and  I  will  prove  that 
I  am  guiltless.  You,  who  have  fought  only  with  a 
dull  lance  and  blunt  sword,  shall  be  given  a  contest 
with  sharpened  steel.  If  you  have  any  sins  uncon- 
fessed,  take  heed  that  you  clear  your  bosom  of 
them,  for  I  swear  you  shall  die  before  to-morrow's 
sun  climbs  the  heavens." 

With  a  black  look  of  defiance  at  the  three  men 
and  a  mocking  smile  at  Alazais,  he  disappeared  with 
long  strides  down  the  winding  path.  When  he  had 
departed,  Raimon  turned  to  Bonifaz. 

"  Tell  me,  what  chance  has  Raimbaut  against 
this  giant  Catalonian?  It  will  be  small  solace  for 
our  wrongs  to  have  him  pierced  by  our  enemy's 
lance,  or  carved  with  his  blade." 

"  I  confess,"  replied  Bonifaz,  "  that  I  wish  Raim- 
baut were  to  meet  a  man  less  powerful.  With  the 
lance  he  has  had  no  more  practice  than  a  few  bouts 
with  me.  In  sword-play  I  do  not  think  even  Ber- 
guedan  can  equal  him,  if  the  Spaniard's  size  and 
strength  be  not  too  great  an  advantage.  Truly,  I 
believe  the  contest  is  not  hopeless." 

"  Indeed,"  declared  Raimbaut,  "  I  have  little  rea- 
son to  expect  any  honor  from  this  encounter.  Yet 
there  is  a  foolish  something  in  my  heart  that  tells 
me  I  shall  humble  this  blackguard  knight." 

"  Alas!"  exclaimed  Alazais,  "  it  is  my  fault  that 
Messire  Raimbaut  risks  his  life  to-morrow!  Had  I 
not  been  so  certain  of  myself,  and  turned  a  deaf  ear 

205 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

to  his  warnings,  all  this  trouble  would  not  have 
come  upon  us.  And  yet  Heaven  must  help  the 
right!  " 

"If  the  right,  or  a  stout  heart  only  were  needed," 
declared  Bonifaz,  "  I  should  have  no  doubt  for 
Raimbaut.  These  are  not  enough,  however,  with 
which  to  meet  a  seasoned  champion:  too  well  do  I 
remember  the  strength  of  Berguedan's  arm  when  he 
tumbled  me  in  the  lists  at  Polignac.  Yet  do  I  be- 
lieve in  the  help  of  Heaven  when  the  scales  hang  not 
in  too  uneven  a  balance." 

As  he  spoke,  Bonifaz  put  a  caressing  hand  on 
Raimbaut's  shoulder. 

"  Now,  get  you  to  bed  and  have  a  good  rest.  I 
will  wake  you  in  good  season.  You  may  trust  us 
to  make  every  preparation  for  the  conflict." 

Raimbaut  was  about  to  take  his  departure  when 
Alazais  drew  a  blue  scarf  from  her  neck  and  said,  — 

"  Wear  this  to-morrow  as  a  proof  of  my  trust  in 
you;  and  remember  that  all  night  long  I  shall  not 
cease  to  pray.' " 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   VELVET   LISTS 

THE  gray  dawn,  creeping  through  the  window, 
found  Raimbaut  wide  awake.  It  was  not  a  growing 
consciousness  that  came  to  him,  but  a  sudden  com- 
plete realization  of  the  day's  ordeal.  He  sat  upright 
in  bed,  wide-eyed,  alert.  The  far  corners  of  the  room 
were  still  shrouded  in  darkness,  and  there  was  not  the 
least  sign  of  life  from  Bonifaz,  who  slumbered  peace- 
fully. Raimbaut  was  possessed  by  an  almost  over- 
whelming feeling  of  isolation  and  loneliness.  As  the 
day  brightened  and  the  birds  began  to  call  sleepily  one 
to  another,  he  rose  silently  and  went  to  the  window. 

The  fresh  breeze  of  the  morning  blew  damp  and 
chill  on  his  bare  throat.  The  river  stretched  below, 
darkened  here  and  there  by  ripples  where  vagrant 
zephyrs  played.  The  meadows  never  looked  so  green 
nor  the  sky  so  blue,  and  the  flush  of  dawn  seemed  like 
the  hue  of  heaven  itself.  It  was  a  beautiful  world 
indeed:  doubly  fair  if  one  must  leave  it! 

All  night  long  he  had  been  haunted  by  horrible 
dreams.  By  some  strange  freak  of  fancy,  it  was 
again  Touche,  the  wolf-hound,  the  embodiment  of 
evil,  against  whom  he  struggled  wearily  during  the 
long  hours.  The  four  years  at  Toulouse  had  been 
so  luxurious  that  he  had  almost  forgotten  there  were 
such  things  in  life  as  strife  and  danger.  Yet,  natu- 

207 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

rally  courageous,  with  his  first  waking  breath  he  cast 
away  all  thought  of  fear  like  a  useless  garment.  He 
was  considering  the  day's  ordeal  as  calmly  as  if  he 
had  no  part  to  act  in  it,  when  Bonifaz  awoke  and, 
catching  sight  of  him,  shouted,  - 

"  Come  away  from  that  window,  or  you  will  be 
stiff  with  the  cold!" 

He  sprang  from  his  couch,  insisted  that  Raim- 
baut  should  not  lift  a  finger  to  dress  himself,  and 
was  hurrying  into  his  clothes,  when  there  came  a 
knock  at  the  door,  and  Jacques  appeared,  his  heavy 
eyes  proving  that  he  had  passed  a  sleepless  night. 
His  greeting  was  almost  feverishly  cheerful  as  he 
placed  the  breakfast  on  the  table.  Bonifaz  com- 
manded that  Raimbaut  eat  heartily,  in  spite  of  his 
lack  of  appetite. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  Bonifaz  went  to  the  ward- 
robe, took  from  it  a  hauberk  and  slipped  the  rat- 
tling garment  over  Raimbaut's  shoulders.  The  steel 
links  sent  a  chill  to  his  very  marrow  as  the  camail 
was  drawn  over  his  head,  but  he  cried  out  with 
wonder  and  admiration,  — 

"  I  have  never  felt  the  like  before!  It  weighs 
scarcely  more  than  a  heavy  mantle.  Can  it  be  pos- 
sible it  is  proof  against  a  sword-stroke?  " 

"  It  will  turn  the  edge  of  a  battle-axe,"  replied 
Bonifaz.  "  The  links  are  of  the  finest  steel,  and 
there  is  a  triple  mesh  over  the  shoulders,  breast,  and 
neck.  It  is  the  Count's  own  coat  of  mail,  made  by  a 
celebrated  armorer  of  Milan  and  worth  its  weight 

208 


THE  VELVET  LISTS 

in  gold.  Notice  how  this  helmet  is  inlaid,  with  the 
face-piece  so  welded  that  it  has  a  double  strength. 
Your  own  iron  pot  is  twice  as  heavy,  but  will  never 
turn  a  sword-stroke  so  surely." 

When  Bonifaz  had  laced  the  helmet  on  Raimbaut's 
head,  he  brought  from  the  chest  a  sword  with  a 
jewelled  hilt,  and  a  baldric  covered  with  gold.  But 
at  these  Raimbaut  shook  his  head. 

"  No!  Not  an  ounce  of  extra  weight  do  I  wish  to 
carry.  I  will  keep  to  my  old  Cordovan  leather,  which 
is  soft  and  supple;  neither  will  I  exchange  my  good 
Toledo  blade.  The  armor  will  be  a  prize  rich  enough, 
should  Berguedan  vanquish  me.  Does  Count  Rai- 
mon  realize  that  weapons,  horse  and  armor  belong  to 
the  victor?  " 

"  He  knows  this  right  well,"  replied  Bonifaz,  "  but 
declares  nothing  must  be  denied  you  in  the  whole 
palace.  He  is  loaning  you  the  black  destrier  which 
the  Count  of  Beziers  gave  him  last  week.  He  is  a 
splendid  animal,  almost  equal  to  Berguedan's  red 
roan.  I  am  sure  you  are  right  to  keep  your  own 
sword;  you  know  its  balance  perfectly,  and  its  blade 
would  stand  the  test  of  Charlemagne's  steel  stair- 
case. What  think  you  of  this  shield?  " 

"It  is  too  heavy,"  answered  Raimbaut.  "  This 
smaller  one  is  better." 

"  I  am  afraid  of  it,"  said  Bonifaz,  examining  it 
critically.  "  The  frame  is  too  weak,  the  leather  thin, 
the  rim  over  light  for  such  blows  as  come  from  Ber- 
guedan. I  cannot  advise  you  to  put  your  trust  in  it." 

209 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Raimbaut  pondered  for  a  moment,  and  then 
replied,  - 

"  If  I  stand  still  for  Berguedan  to  reach  me,  there 
is  no  shield  strong  enough.  My  one  chance  for  suc- 
cess is  through  my  quickness,  and  a  heavier  shield 
would  only  make  me  slow  and  helpless." 

"  Again  I  am  not  sure  but  that  you  are  right," 
declared  Bonifaz,  although  he  still  shook  his  head 
doubtfully.  "  You  are  like  young  David  who  over- 
came the  giant  Goliath.  Until  midnight,  I  talked 
with  Count  Raimon  and  good  old  Bernart.  They 
agreed  with  me  that  you  must  meet  the  Catalonian 
with  some  of  his  own  craft.  You  are  no  match  for 
him  with  the  lance;  the  sooner  you  take  your  tumble 
and  draw  your  sword,  the  better.  Even  then  you 
must  at  the  beginning  keep  away  from  him,  and  trust 
to  wear  him  out.  Above  all  things,  be  on  your  guard 
against  a  stroke  three  hand-breadths  longer  than  you 
think.  It  is  this  tremendous  reach  of  Berguedan 
which  has  been  the  undoing  of  many  a  stout  knight. 
If  you  are  on  your  feet  and  strong  at  the  end  of  a 
quarter-hour,  have  no  doubt  of  your  success.  It  is 
the  first  fierce  onslaughts  that  I  most  fear.  You 
have  not  strength  to  stand  before  them  and  ex- 
change blows.  I  pray  that  you  may  keep  all  this 
in  mind:  your  very  life  may  hang  upon  it." 

To  these  instructions  Raimbaut  listened  intently, 
and  then  turned  to  Jacques,  from  whose  face  the 
assumed  cheerfulness  had  long  ago  departed.  His 
eyes  spoke  plainer  than  words:  "  I  must  impress  upon 

210 


THE  VELVET  LISTS 

my  memory  the  features  of  the  friend  whom  I  shall 
never  again  see  in  life!  "  He  threw  his  arms  around 
his  master's  neck  and  clung  to  him  so  closely  that 
Raimbaut  was  forced  to  break  away  from  him, 
declaring,  — 

"  Never  you  fear,  my  good  Jacques.  You  shall  see 
me  come  riding  back  within  the  hour  on  Berguedan's 
red  roan,  with  his  armor  rattling  from  my  saddle." 

With  these  merry  words  he  followed  Bonifaz  down 
the  stairs.  Here  they  found  Miraval  holding  the 
black  destrier  with  one  hand,  and  Bonifaz's  huge  gray 
with  the  other.  Folquet  stood  by  his  side  with  three 
tall  lances  on  his  arm.  A  moment  later  they  were 
clattering  out  of  the  courtyard. 

To  Raimbaut,  who  had  heard  so  many  tales  since 
early  boyhood  concerning  the  brave  sights  at  tourna- 
ments, the  empty  lists  seemed  melancholy  enough. 
There  was  no  blare  of  trumpets  as  he  rode  in,  no  blaze 
of  bright  colors  to  greet  him,  no  bevy  of  fair  ladies 
bending  forward  from  their  high  seats,  no  eager  crowd 
shouting  aloud  at  his  entrance.  Not  a  soul  was  in 
sight.  He  looked  over  a  sea  of  waving  grass  as  high 
as  his  horse's  knees.  Bonifaz  dismounted  and  tight- 
ened Raimbaut's  saddle-girths,  until  he  could  not  gain 
another  inch.  Then  Folque't  came  up  with  the  lances. 
Bonifaz  selected  one  without  a  flaw  and  handed  it  to 
Raimbaut. 

At  this  moment  Count  Raimon  arrived,  attended 
by  Bernart,  a  herald,  and  two  surgeons,  lay  brethren 
from  the  monastery.  They  took  their  stations  on  the 

211 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

east  side  of  the  lists,  facing  the  centre,  where  the 
combatants  must  meet.  The  Count,  pale  and 
anxious,  stopped  in  passing  to  say,  - 

"  Nothing  but  your  success  will  excuse  me  for  my 
part  in  this  affair.  Yet  are  we  in  honor  bound  to  go 
through  with  it.  May  good  Saint  Martin  give  you 
strength  and  courage!  Forget  not  how  David,  who 
was  weaker  than  you,  overthrew  the  giant  Goliath, 
who  was  larger  and  stronger  even  than  Berguedan." 

As  he  passed  on,  Raimbaut,  in  spite  of  the  serious- 
ness of  his  position,  could  not  avoid  turning  to  Boni- 
faz  with  a  smile. 

"  First  you,  and  now  the  good  Count  himself,  have 
dragged  in  the  old  Scripture  story.  I'  faith,  I  am 
like  to  drop  my  lance  and  take  to  a  sling  with  five 
smooth  stones  from  the  brook,  if  that  tale  be  told 
me  again! " 

For  several  minutes  they  waited.  Count  Raimon 
glanced  repeatedly  at  the  south  entrance,  near  which 
Raimbaut  and  his  party  were  stationed,  till  there 
came  a  clatter  of  hoofs  outside,  and  Berguedan  rode 
bravely  in,  with  Miguel  and  two  men-at-arms.  They 
were  all  richly  apparelled.  It  was  evident  from  Ber- 
guedan's  look  of  surprise  that  he  expected  a  gathering 
of  onlookers.  In  truth,  he  had  delayed  his  entrance 
for  the  sake  of  effect,  and  was  keenly  disappointed  to 
find  no  crowd  to  greet  him.  As  he  passed  Raimbaut, 
he  gave  him  a  keen  glance,  which  took  in  every  inch 
of  his  equipment. 

"  Sorry  am  I,"  said  he,  "  to  keep  you  waiting,  my 
212 


THE  VELVET  LISTS 

Lord  of  Vacqueiras ;  but  we  will  endeavor  to  entertain 
you  well,  now  we  have  arrived." 

Then,  with  a  smile  on  his  dark  face,  he  rode  up 
to  Count  Raimon. 

"  I  regret  that  there  are  so  few  present,  this  beau- 
tiful morning.  The  conditions  are  perfect,  save  for 
the  long  grass,  which  may  somewhat  impede  our 
movements.  Still,  it  will  furnish  a  soft  cushion  to 
the  one  who  is  unhorsed.  I  am  averse  to  the  sight 
of  injuries,  which  sometimes  occur  even  in  little 
affairs  like  this.  I  confess  that  I  am  disappointed 
there  are  no  bright  eyes  to  inspire  us,  and  no  poets  to 
sing  the  fame  of  the  Velvet  Lists." 

Raimon  bowed  gravely  and  said,  — 

"  Count  Berguedan,  I  have  given  my  consent  to 
this  encounter  only  because  of  great  provocation,  and 
in  the  heat  of  a  just  resentment.  It  shall  not  be 
made  an  occasion  of  glory  or  pageantry.  At  the 
sound  of  the  trumpet  you  shall  run  the  first  course. 
If  neither  is  unhorsed,  you  shall  return  and  engage 
again.  When  one  falls,  the  combat  shall  be  finished 
with  the  sword.  Three  blasts  of  the  trumpet  shall 
be  the  signal  that  the  struggle  is  over.  You  shall 
have  neither  more  nor  less  than  fair  play;  and  may 
God  defend  the  right!  " 

To  this  Berguedan  waved  a  graceful  assent,  and  his 
little  cavalcade  rode  to  their  places  at  the  north  end 
of  the  lists,  about  a  hundred  yards  from  where  Raim- 
baut  sat  his  horse,  awaiting  the  ordeal  before  him. 
Bonifaz  caught  his  breath  with  an  audible  gasp  as 

213 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

he  stood  with  one  hand  on  Raimbaut's  knee.  Mira- 
val  muttered  nervously;  the  lances  in  Folquet's  hand 
rattled  together  like  castanets.  Only  Raimbaut 
seemed  self-possessed.  He  settled  himself  in  the 
saddle,  placed  his  lance  in  rest,  and  bent  forward, 
ready  for  the  signal. 

Count  Raimon's  face  grew  gray  with  anxiety  as  he 
watched ;  and  he  was  about  to  give  the  word  when  he 
saw  the  stern  expression  on  Berguedan's  countenance 
change  to  a  smile  of  amusement.  Following  his 
glance,  Raimon  discovered  that  Folquet,  in  his  ex- 
citement, had  dropped  one  of  the  lances  from  his 
trembling  hand  upon  the  flanks  of  Raimbaut's  des- 
trier, and  the  latter,  lashing  out  and  plunging,  had 
nearly  unhorsed  his  rider.  This  had  startled  Bonifaz' 
gray  charger,  who  pulled  the  Lord  of  Miraval  off 
his  feet,  and  made  Folquet  jump  nimbly  aside  to 
escape  the  flying  heels. 

In  sharp  contrast  to  this  confusion,  Berguedan  sat 
his  horse  motionless;  and  the  red  roan,  although 
every  muscle  under  his  satin  skin  was  tense,  seemed 
carved  in  stone.  Behind  him  stood  Miguel  with 
the  two  men-at-arms,  as  smiling  as  if  they  were 
watching  the  performance  of  a  troop  of  joglars. 
Even  when  Raimbaut's  destrier  was  under  con- 
trol, Berguedan  still  laughed,  loath  to  give  up  his 
enjoyment  of  the  comedy.  At  last  he  turned  to 
Raimon. 

"  My  good  Count,  we  are  ready,  if  the  riding  lesson 
be  over." 

214 


THE  VELVET  LISTS 

At  these  words  so  full  of  mockery,  Bonifaz's  eyes 
blazed  and  he  hissed,  - 

"  'Sdeath!  You  must  humble  him!  Win  the  red 
roan  and  ride  him  back  to  Vacqueiras!  Remember 
your  father!  " 

Fortunate  was  it  that  the  sound  of  the  trumpet 
came  on  the  instant,  for  a  flame  of  fury  took  pos- 
session of  Raimbaut.  He  sunk  the  spurs  in  his 
destrier's  sides  and  was  off  like  a  flash,  tearing 
through  the  long  grass  so  madly  that  even  Berguedan, 
riding  a  perfect  course  on  the  red  roan,  was  discon- 
certed. His  spear,  striking  Raimbaut's  shield  a 
hand-breadth  to  the  side,  glanced  off  and  was  not 
broken. 

Raimbaut  was  so  mad  with  rage  that  he  barely 
touched  Berguedan's  shield,  and  was  only  able  to 
stop  his  destrier  at  the  high  barrier.  With  the  rush 
of  the  cold  wind  against  his  cheek,  however,  his 
reason  came  back  to  him.  As  he  cantered  to  his 
place  again,  blind  fury  changed  to  an  anger  no  less 
intense,  but  clear-eyed  and  deadly.  Every  faculty 
became  acute.  Again  he  studied  the  chances  of  the 
combat.  Plainly  his  only  hope  was  to  fight  on  foot, 
and  with  the  sword.  His  plan  was  made  at  the  second 
blast  of  the  trumpet. 

This  time  he  rode  a  steady  course,  holding  his 
horse  well  in  hand.  Just  before  the  rivals  came 
together,  Raimbaut  loosened  his  feet  in  the  stirrups; 
and  when  his  opponent's  lance- point  caught  his 
shield  fairly  in  the  centre,  he  was  swept  off  like  a  leaf 

215 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

by  the  autumn  wind.  He  fell  with  scarce  a  sound, 
almost  hidden  by  the  long  grass,  while  his  riderless 
horse  galloped  on  and  disappeared  through  the  open 
gate  at  the  end  of  the  lists. 

Berguedan  laughed  insultingly  as  he  swept  past 
Bonifaz,  Miraval  and  Folquet,  standing  together 
silent  and  disconcerted.  He  pulled  the  red  roan  back 
on  his  haunches,  and,  turning  about,  tossed  his  use- 
less lance  into  the  air,  drew  his  sword  and  dismounted, 
close  to  Raimbaut,  now  struggling  to  his  feet. 

For  a  moment  they  faced  each  other,  the  grin  of 
confidence  on  Berguedan's  visage  widening.  So 
careless  was  he  that  his  shield  lay  loose  on  his  arm, 
the  point  of  his  blade  close  to  the  ground,  when 
Raimbaut  suddenly  sprang  forward;  his  sword 
flashed  in  the  sunlight,  and  bit  deeply  into  the  giant's 
left  shoulder. 

Berguedan  struck  back  savagely,  furious  that  he 
had  allowed  himself  to  be  tricked;  but  his  opponent 
was  well  out  of  reach  and  eager  for  another  chance  to 
sting.  At  this  a  cheer  went  up ; ' '  Noel  for  Raimbaut ! 
Noel  for  Vacqueiras!  "  The  color  came  back  to 
Count  Raimon's  cheeks.  He  turned  to  Bernart  and 
said,  — 

'  To  good  Saint  Eloy  I  vow  a  chapel  in  the  church 
of  Saint  Sernin,  if  he  bring  us  victory  this  day!  " 

Miraval's  countenance  was  wreathed  in  smiles,  and 
Folquet's  teeth  were  chattering  with  excitement. 

"  It  is  but  the  beginning  of  a  long  journey,"  de- 
clared Bonifaz,  his  face  set.  "  Raimbaut  has  a  lead 

216 


THE   VELVET  LISTS 

which  it  will  be  difficult  for  Berguedan  to  over- 
come, for  he  has  no  longer  his  red  roan  to  help 
him." 

Bernart  looked  anxiously  from  one  combatant  to 
the  other.  It  was  a  different  Berguedan  now:  an 
experienced  knight,  cautious  and  deadly,  who  stood 
and  studied  his  antagonist.  His  face  wore  at  last  a 
savage  earnestness.  He  paid  no  attention  to  the  red 
wound  on  his  shoulder,  but  glaring  over  the  top  of  his 
shield,  approached  Raimbaut  warily  through  the  long 
grass. 

For  a  moment  Raimbaut's  heart  almost  failed  him 
as  he  realized  the  size  and  strength  of  his  opponent. 
He  was  glad  to  obey  instructions,  keeping  away, 
circling  slowly  about,  waiting  for  his  enemy  to 
strike. 

Berguedan,  following  with  eyes  as  cold  and  keen 
as  the  edge  of  his  blade,  suddenly  sprang  forward. 
Raimbaut,  lithe  and  active,  leaped  back,  as  he 
thought,  well  out  of  danger.  He  had  not  allowed, 
however,  for  the  prodigious  reach  of  his  antagonist, 
and  received  a  stroke  on  the  top  of  his  shield  which 
cut  through  brass,  wood,  and  leather  a  full  hand- 
breadth.  Moreover,  the  blade  stuck  for  a  moment 
in  the  gap,  and  Raimbaut  was  able  to  reply  with  a 
quick  stroke  at  Berguedan's  sword-arm.  To  the  on- 
lookers it  seemed  a  mere  touch,  but  it  cut  through  the 
meshes  of  the  hauberk,  and  Raimbaut  could  see  the 
red  drops  spurting. 

Again  they  circled  about,  each  waiting  for  the 
217 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

other  to  attack.  It  was  a  test  of  patience,  in  which 
Berguedan,  still  angry  that  he  had  been  outwitted, 
proved  the  weaker.  In  spite  of  his  agility,  Raimbaut 
found  himself  forced  back  into  the  clogging  grass, 
fairly  within  reach  of  his  powerful  opponent,  who 
rained  blow  after  blow  upon  him.  When  at  last  he 
staggered  into  the  trodden  circle  again,  beyond  the 
reach  of  Berguedan's  long  blade,  his  shield  was  so 
shattered  that  it  seemed  like  to  drop  in  pieces  from 
his  arm. 

"  Alas!  "  exclaimed  Bonifaz,  "  I  shall  never  forgive 
myself  for  sending  him  into  the  contest  with  so  weak 
a  buckler." 

"  I  fear  me  there  will  be  no  new  chapel  to  Saint 
Eloy!  "  declared  Raimon  sadly. 

Though  Raimbaut's  friends  were  beginning  to  de- 
spair, to  his  heart  there  had  come  increasing  confi- 
dence. He  was  certain  that  the  "  quarter-hour"  had 
passed  which  Bonifaz  had  feared.  He  now  under- 
stood thoroughly  his  own  powers  and  those  of  his 
antagonist.  He  knew  that  he  was  no  match  for 
Berguedan  at  close  quarters,  and  that  his  only  hope 
was  to  strike  and  get  away.  This  had  been  difficult 
at  first,  because  of  the  grass  and  weeds  which  twined 
around  his  feet.  Now,  however,  there  was  a  circle 
which  had  been  trampled  down,  over  which  he  could 
move  with  ease.  He  had  not  realized  the  tremendous 
length  of  Berguedan's  arm,  but  he  need  not  be  caught 
unawares  again.  He  began  to  take  full  advantage  of 
his  quickness.  He  evaded  Berguedan's  fierce  rushes; 

218 


THE  VELVET  LISTS 

he  stepped  aside  to  avoid  the  sweep  of  the  long  blade; 
again  and  again  he  delivered  his  blow  and  made  off 
without  a  return. 

To  the  others  they  seemed  to  do  no  harm,  but  Ber- 
guedan  knew  better.  Every  stroke  of  the  Toledo 
blade  cut  through  the  meshes  of  his  hauberk,  and 
from  these  little  wounds  his  strength  was  being  slowly 
drained.  He  was  breathing  with  difficulty:  his  care- 
less living  had  weakened  his  powers  of  endurance. 
The  penance  which  Nature  imposes  upon  all  who 
break  her  laws  was  heavy  upon  him. 

Raimbaut  could  feel  the  power  and  speed  of  his 
opponent  gradually  diminish.  He  could  see  the  light 
of  confidence  dying  out  in  Berguedan's  eyes,  and  the 
sweat-drenched  face  grow  haggard.  So  sluggish  had 
the  Spaniard  become  that  Raimbaut,  ignoring  his 
instructions,  no  longer  stepped  back,  but  fought  foot 
to  foot. 

This  was  what  Berguedan  had  long  been  hoping 
for.  Making  no  effort  to  guard  himself,  he  sum- 
moned all  his  powers  and  struck  back  fiercely  at  Raim- 
baut. It  was  a  magnificent  blow,  sweeping  through 
the  broken  shield  and  catching  the  side  of  the  helmet. 
An  inch  lower,  and  the  contest  would  have  ended! 
The  blade  nicked  the  curve  of  the  morion  just  high 
enough  to  break  the  ancient  lacings  which  fastened 
it  and  sent  it  rolling  in  the  grass. 

At  this  there  was  a  loud  cry  of,  —  "  Noel !  Noel ! " 
from  Miguel  and  the  Spanish  men-at-arms. 

"  Alas!  "  said  Count  Raimon  sadly,  "  it  is  a  black 
219 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

day  for  Provence.     Would  I  might  order  the  trumpet 
to  sound  and  save  our  Raimbaut!  " 

"  Why  did  he  forget  himself?  "  exclaimed  Bonifaz, 
in  an  agony  of  regret.  "  Why  did  I  fail  to  put  fresh 
thongs  on  the  helmet?  " 

Berguedan,  elated  by  his  success  and  wishing  to 
take  full  advantage  of  his  opportunity,  pressed,  hot- 
foot, upon  his  enemy,  who  stood  bareheaded  and  with 
a  shattered  shield  upon  his  arm.  But  the  latter  had 
become  so  useless  that  he  flung  it  from  him,  and  faced 
Berguedan  with  no  other  defence  than  his  sword. 
For  a  full  minute  he  gave  an  exhibition  of  skill  at 
which  even  Miguel  could  not  but  exclaim.  He  had 
scarce  been  harmed  during  the  long  struggle.  The 
stroke  that  swept  the  helmet  from  his  head  had  left 
no  injury  but  a  slight  cut  on  the  forehead,  from  which 
the  blood  trickled.  His  good  hauberk  had  not  been 
pierced.  The  joy  of  the  conflict  possessed  him;  there 
was  a  smile  upon  his  face. 

Berguedan,  on  the  other  hand,  was  now  almost 
spent.  He  stood  like  a  bull  in  the  arena.  He  no 
longer  attacked,  for  he  felt  his  strength  slowly  ebbing. 
He  could  not  restrain  the  trembling  of  his  sword-arm. 
His  feet  were  like  lead.  There  was  a  haze  over  the 
bright  sunlight,  and  a  ringing  in  his  ears.  His  lips 
were  parched,  his  heart  throbbed  painfuly.  What 
troubled  him  most  was  that  his  shield  had  grown  so 
heavy  he  could  scarcely  hold  it  to  the  level  of  his  chin. 
His  left  arm  was  numb,  and  for  a  moment,  all  uncon- 
sciously, he  dropped  his  shield  a  hand-breadth. 

220 


THE  VELVET  LISTS 

Raimbaut  saw  his  opportunity.  Summoning  all 
his  strength,  he  struck,  cutting  through  the  steel  links 
as  if  they  were  paper.  The  blood  followed  in  a 
torrent;  Berguedan  staggered  as  if  about  to  fall. 
Yet  again  he  raised  his  shield,  and  again  it  dropped 
from  sheer  exhaustion. 

Now  was  the  time  for  the  final  blow.  Miguel 
watched  for  it  with  half-averted  face.  The  Count  and 
Bernart  waited,  scarce  breathing.  Miraval  muttered 
an  oath ;  Folquet,  on  the  ground,  whispered  a  prayer. 
They  saw  Raimbaut' s  lifted  arm,  they  saw  the  flash 
of  the  blade  in  the  sunlight.  But  it  never  fell;  it 
hung  arrested,  as  if  by  some  unseen  power. 

"  Strike!  "  cried  Bonifaz. 

"  Smite!  Spare  not!  "  called  Bernart,  in  a  queru- 
lous voice. 

Raimbaut  dropped  his  sword,  point  to  the  ground, 
and  stood  quite  still.  Berguedan  expected  the  blow, 
conscious  that  he  could  not  guard  it,  certain  that  it 
must  mean  death.  But  when  he  saw  the  blade  rest 
harmless  on  the  ground,  into  his  glazing  eyes  there 
came  a  gleam  of  hope.  Snarling  like  a  wild  beast, 
tottering  with  weakness,  he  tried  twice,  thrice,  to 
strike  at  his  unresisting  foe.  It  was  too  late:  he  had 
not  the  strength  to  lift  his  arm.  The  sword  dropped 
from  his  nerveless  hand,  as  with  a  great  sob  he  fell 
full  length  upon  the  grass  at  Raimbaut' s  feet. 

With  the  thud  of  the  huge  body  on  the  ground, 
there  came  three  blasts  from  the  herald's  trumpet. 
In  another  instant  Raimbaut  was  surrounded  by  his 

221 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

friends.  Bonifaz  was  the  first  to  reach  him,  his  face 
radiant  with  joy.  Miraval  and  Folquet  each  caught 
him  by  the  hand;  Bernart  embraced  him  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  and  Raimon  declared  in  a  voice  trembling 
with  emotion,  - 

"  To  holy  Saint  Eloy  will  I  give  his  chapel,  and  to 
you  naught  that  I  possess  shall  be  denied.  Choose 
what  you  will." 

As  the  Count  spoke,  Raimbaut  slowly  came  to  him- 
self as  from  a  trance. 

"  Saw  you  a  vision?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"We  saw  nothing,"  replied  Bonifaz.  "Why  did  you 
spare  the  traitor?  The  world  would  be  well  rid  of  him." 

"  Heard  you  aught?  "  inquired  Raimbaut,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  almost  wildly. 

"  We  heard  nothing  strange  or  wonderful," 
answered  Bernart.  "  What  mean  you?  " 

"  When  Berguedan  was  at  my  mercy  and  I  about 
to  strike  the  death-blow,  there  came  to  me  a  strange 
impulse  of  pity.  It  was  as  if  an  unseen  hand  caught 
my  sword  and  held  it,  as  if  Saint  Martin  interposed 
to  save  me  from  mortal  sin.  Yet  have  I  broken  my 
vow,  for  there  was  murder  in  my  heart." 

He  stooped  down  and  took  first  one  and  then  the 
other  spur  from  his  heels.  He  handed  them  to  Count 
Raimon. 

"  I  disclaim  all  rights  of  knighthood,"  he  said. 
"  Never  again  will  I  wear  golden  spurs,  until  I  have 
won  them  by  some  deed  untarnished  by  hatred  and 
revenge." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LOB  A    OF   CABARET 

RAIMBAUT'S  renunciation  of  his  knighthood  was  so 
solemn  and  so  determined  that  no  one  ventured  to 
remonstrate.  Upon  his  face  there  was  a  rapt  expres- 
sion; even  Miraval  looked  at  him  with  awe  and 
wonder. 

When  Raimbaut  finished,  he  turned  to  Berguedan, 
who  lay,  stripped  to  the  waist,  his  head  in  Miguel's 
lap.  His  body  was  covered  with  wounds  where  the 
Toledo  blade  had  cut  through  the  links  of  the  armor. 
One  only  was  serious,  the  others  having  served  to 
drain  the  giant's  strength  and  to  bring  on  the  weak- 
ness which  resulted  in  his  final  overthrow.  The  sur- 
geons bent  over  him,  using  all  their  skill  to  staunch  the 
blood  which  gushed  from  the  last  deep  gash.  At  last 
one  of  the  monks  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  have  a  faint  hope  for  the  knight's  recovery," 
he  said.  "  We  will  carry  him  to  the  monastery  close 
at  hand,  and  do  for  him  all  that  is  within  our  power." 

"Thank  God!"  exclaimed  Raimbaut,  looking 
down  upon  his  unconscious  enemy. 

There  had  come  to  him  a  vague  feeling  of  regret 
at  the  work  of  his  own  hands. 

"Tell  me,  good  Brother,"  he  asked,  "  is  there  aught 
we  can  do  to  help  you  save  this  man?  " 

"  There  is  nothing,"  replied  the  monk.  "  Indeed, 
223 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

you  had  best  leave  us,  for  the  Spaniard  is  likely  to 
regain  consciousness  and  must  not  be  excited.  His 
life  hangs  but  by  a  thread.  Before  you  go,  let  me 
make  sure  that  you  yourself  have  come  to  no  hurt." 

"  Nay,"  declared  Raimbaut, "  I  am  no  whit  harmed, 
and  am  ready  to  ride  away  on  the  instant." 

In  spite  of  his  protests,  however,  Bonifaz  and 
Miraval  stripped  him  of  his  hauberk  and  padded 
shirt,  drenched  with  sweat.  There  were  marks  on 
his  left  arm,  a  number  of  contusions  on  his  shoulder, 
and  a  bruise  on  his  breast  where  Berguedan's  sword 
had  struck  hard ;  but  not  once  had  the  good  armor  of 
proof  failed  to  turn  the  blow.  On  his  forehead  only 
was  there  any  flow  of  blood.  As  he  stood  in  the 
bright  sunlight,  with  the  fresh  wind  blowing  on  his 
bare  body,  he  was  like  the  statue  of  a  young  Greek 
god.  There  was  no  over-development,  no  swollen 
muscle  or  knotted  sinew.  Every  line  indicated  the 
lavish  strength  and  energy  of  youth.  He  would 
not  even  consent  that  the  surgeon  touch  his  bruises, 
as  he  hurried  to  re-arm  himself.  Replacing  Alazais' 
blue  scarf  in  the  helmet  from  which  it  had  fallen,  he 
looked  about  for  his  horse.  The  black  destrier  was 
not  in  sight,  and  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  red  roan, 
standing  motionless  close  at  hand.  He  inquired  of 
Count  Raimon,  — 

"  Does  my  enemy's  horse  now  belong  to  me?  " 

"  By  the  law  of  arms  his  horse  and  armor  are  yours, 
though  it  is  the  custom  for  the  squire  of  the  defeated 
knight  to  deliver  them  to  the  victor." 

224 


LOBA  OF  CABARET 

Raimbaut  smiled  a  little  bitterly. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  discourteous  if  I  save  Miguel 
his  labor  and  take  the  destrier  now  when  I  need  him 
most." 

He  walked  to  the  red  roan  and  mounted  with  diffi- 
culty, for  his  muscles  were  beginning  to  stiffen.  His 
heart  throbbed  with  exultation  as  he  drew  rein  on  the 
horse  of  which  he  had  dreamed  so  often.  The  strain 
of  the  contest  had  been  greater  than  he  realized.  It 
was  only  by  the  exertion  of  all  his  will-power  that  he 
sat  upright  in  his  saddle  and  rode  swiftly  from  the 
lists,  followed  by  Bonifaz,  with  Count  Raimon  and 
Bernart  on  either  side. 

They  found  the  courtyard  crowded.  News  of  the 
encounter  had  reached  the  palace,  for  in  spite  of  the 
Count's  prohibition  there  had  been  many  spectators 
hidden  behind  the  palisades,  peering  through  the 
gaps  of  the  shrunken  boards.  As  they  entered,  the 
place  rang  with  shouts  and  cheers.  From  every  side 
came  cries  of,  — 

"  Noel  for  Raimbaut!  Noel  for  the  Sire  of  Vac- 
queiras!  " 

He  made  his  way  through  the  crowd,  dismounted  at 
the  entrance  of  the  palace,  and  climbed  the  broad 
steps.  Here  on  the  platform  the  ladies  were  gathered 
to  greet  him  with  smiles  and  congratulations,  among 
them  Alazais.  She  found  herself  strangely  at  a  loss 
as  Raimbaut  stood  before  her. 

Now  the  people  became  impatient,  and  at  their 
insistent  calls  Raimbaut  turned  to  look  upon  a  sea  of 

225 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

flushed  faces.  He  drew  himself  to  his  full  height  and 
lifted  his  helmet  from  his  head.  His  cheek  was  pale, 
his  lips  black  and  parched,  his  eyes  bloodshot.  On 
his  forehead  was  a  little  splash  of  red,  whence  blood 
was  trickling.  He  looked  like  an  artist's  vision  of 
Saint  George,  new  come  from  his  conquest  of  the 
dragon.  He  tried  to  speak,  in  a  brief  silence,  but  his 
words  were  drowned  in  the  uproar.  The  people,  the 
walls,  and  the  horizon  spun  around  him  in  a  dizzy 
flight,  and  glad  was  he  when  Bonifaz,  noticing  his  con- 
dition, gave  him  a  shoulder  and  helped  him  through 
the  crowd  to  the  door  of  the  tower. 

Raimbaut  did  not  see  a  cavalcade  of  strangers, 
although  he  passed  almost  near  enough  to  touch 
them.  They  had  ridden  into  the  courtyard  on  the 
very  instant  that  he  mounted  the  steps.  They  were 
covered  with  the  dust  of  the  highway  and  startled  by 
the  surging  throng.  First  had  come  a  lady  riding  a 
cream-colored  palfrey,  with  a  slender  cavalier  at  her 
elbow,  followed  by  six  stout  men-at-arms.  It  was 
evident  they  were  people  of  consequence,  for  their 
garments  were  rich  and  their  horses  sleek  and  well- 
caparisoned.  Unable  at  first  to  discover  the  reason 
of  the  excitement,  they  paused  near  the  gateway 
where  there  was  an  open  space.  The  lady,  who  was 
closely  veiled  and  clad  in  a  long  robe  which  completely 
concealed  her  figure,  exclaimed  in  a  clear  voice,  - 

"Ho!  What  have  we  come  upon?  A  wedding  or 
a  hanging?  Shall  we  keep  by  the  gate,  ready  for 
flight,  or  press  boldly  forward?  Is  it  a  celebration 

226 


LOBA  OF  CABARET 

of  the  Count's  birthday,  or  an  insurrection,  putting 
our  lives  in  danger?  " 

At  this  moment  Raimbaut  turned  toward  them, 
the  sun  shining  full  on  his  pale  face  and  splashed  fore- 
head. There  was  a  deafening  cry  of,  — 

"  Noel  for  the  Lord  of  Vacqueiras!  " 

"  I'  faith!  "  exclaimed  the  lady,  "  't  is  the  lad  we 
saw  at  Courthezon:  the  little  squire  of  the  gaudy 
mantle,  grown  a  man." 

She  touched  the  shoulder  of  a  stout  merchant, 
who  stood  apart  from  the  crowd. 

"  Tell  me,  my  good  fellow,  what  is  the  reason  for 
this  gathering?  " 

The  man,  turning  hastily  and  with  a  tradesman's 
instinctive  recognition  of  quality,  removed  his  hat 
and  bowing  low,  replied,  — 

"  My  lady,  it  is  Raimbaut,  the  young  Sire  of  Vac- 
queiras, who  has  this  morning  won  a  notable  victory 
in  the  lists  over  Berguedan  the  Catalonian.  We  are 
all  pleased  at  his  success.  A  favorite  is  he,  though  he 
bring  no  gold  into  our  coffers.  It  is  his  first  deed  of 
arms,  but  he  is  a  notable  singer,  and  has  found  many 
good  songs  which  are  sung  in  the  streets  of  Toulouse. 
He  will  some  day  take  the  place  of  Bernart,  who  is 
growing  old.  I  pray  God  he  may  not  be  led  by  this 
success  to  exchange  his  lute  for  a  sword!  " 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  lady,  "  so  pray  I  also,  though 
I  care  not  overmuch  for  song.  There  is  many  a 
blithe  youth  spoiled  for  love  by  this  silly  habit  men 
have  of  hacking  each  other  to  pieces." 

227 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

There  was  something  so  free  and  almost  familiar 
in  the  words  of  the  lady,  that  the  merchant  looked  at 
her  keenly,  as  if  in  doubt  that  he  had  classed  her 
aright.  He  needed  not  a  second  glance,  however. 
From  her  closely  fitting  head-dress,  under  which  there 
hung  two  long  braids  of  gold-red  hair,  to  the  tips  of 
her  pointed  shoes,  there  was  not  a  discordant  note. 
Her  voice,  too,  although  she  spoke  so  freely,  had  the 
indescribable  quality  which  no  woman  of  doubtful 
class  could  counterfeit.  She  listened  eagerly  when 
Raimbaut  tried  to  speak,  and  cried,  "  Noel  to  the 
Lord  of  Vacqueiras!  "  with  those  around  her. 

When  Raimbaut  was  led  away  by  Bonifaz,  she 
pushed  through  the  crowd  to  the  steps  and  saluted 
Raimon  and  Alazais. 

"  Good-morrow,  my  Lord  of  Toulouse!  Have  you 
no  greeting  for  your  poor  guests  cooling  their  heels 
and  burning  their  faces  at  your  gateway  for  an  hour 
or  more?  " 

At  her  first  gay  word,  both  Count  Raimon  and 
Bernart  hurried  down  to  her.  While  the  latter 
assisted  her  to  alight,  the  former  overwhelmed  her 
with  apologies. 

"  By  Saint  Eloy,  there  is  no  one  more  welcome  than 
the  beautiful  lady  of  Cabaret!  We  are  overjoyed  at 
this  visit,  so  long  deferred.  Ask  Alazais  how  often 
we  have  spoken  of  you.  Sorry  am  I  that  your  mar- 
riage made  you  so  long  forget  your  old  friends." 

At  this  Alazais  intervened  with  a  smiling  word. 

"  I  would  not  be  lacking  in  courtesy,  my  good 
228 


LOBA  OF  CABARET 

father,  but  I  must  warn  you  that  this  same  Countess 
of  Cabaret  has  won  the  hearts  of  all  the  men  in  Lan- 
guedoc :  striplings  and  grandsires  are  alike  her  slaves. 
Bid  her  be  merciful  before  she  enters  here!  " 

By  this  time  Loba  had  reached  the  topmost  step, 
and  embracing  Alazais,  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"  God  knows,"  said  she,  "  how  little  chance  I  have, 
with  you  in  sight,  to  win  a  glance  from  any  man !  I 
shall  have  leisure  for  my  devotions  here  in  Toulouse, 
for  nothing  else  will  be  left  to  me." 

They  entered  the  doorway,  and  while  the  men 
talked  together  over  their  flagons  of  wine,  Alazais 
hurried  her  friend  to  her  own  room.  Here  the  tire- 
women removed  Loba's  dust-covered  robe,  wimple 
and  heavy  girdle,  unlaced  her  tunic,  and  drew  the 
shoes  from  her  weary  feet.  They  effaced  the  stains 
of  travel  with  spring  water,  slightly  warmed,  and  one 
of  them,  having  unfastened  the  fillet,  was  about  to 
loosen  the  long  braids,  when  Alazais  dismissed  her 
with  the  others. 

11  Loba!  "  she  cried,  "  none  other  shall  touch  your 
hair.  I  wonder  has  it  grown  since  the  old  convent 
days?  Then  my  greatest  joy  was  to  act  as  your  tire- 
maiden." 

She  unbound  the  thick  tresses,  standing  on  the 
tips  of  her  toes  to  reach  them,  and  gave  an  exclama- 
tion of  wonder  and  admiration  as  they  fell  in  shining 
waves  over  the  white  neck  and  shoulders. 

"  Truly,"  said  Alazais,  touching  them  lovingly, 
"  they  are  three  hand-breadths  longer." 

229 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  Yes,"  replied  Loba,  "  I  am  sorry  to  say  they  are 
three  hand-breadths  longer,  and  more  than  a  third 
heavier.  On  a  day  like  this  I  am  tempted  an  hundred 
times  to  cut  them.  Truly,  I  was  ready  to  die  of  heat 
and  fatigue.  Rest  is  all  that  will  save  my  life." 

She  kissed  Alazais  carelessly  on  the  forehead  and 
threw  herself  on  the  cool  white  bed.  Stretching  her 
long  body  deliciously,  she  made  a  pillow  of  one  round 
arm,  and  closed  her  eyes  with  a  deep  sigh  of  perfect 
contentment.  In  spite  of  the  shock  at  seeing  her 
fresh  coverlet  so  ruthlessly  crumpled,  Alazais  seated 
herself  on  a  fauteuil  by  the  window  and  said  not  a 
word,  while  Loba  fell  asleep  as  quickly  as  a  tired  child. 

For  a  while  Alazais  watched,  her  mind  full  of  the 
memories  of  her  convent  days.  Then  she  began  to 
nod,  not  having  closed  her  eyes  the  previous  night, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  she  also  slept.  For  a  long  hour 
there  was  no  sound  in  the  room  except  the  hum  of 
voices  and  the  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the  courtyard  below. 

Loba  woke  first,  and  lifting  herself  on  her  elbow, 
discovered  Alazais  sitting  bolt  upright  before  her  on 
the  tall  fauteuil,  her  head  resting  against  the  carved 
oak,  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  her  feet  resting  at  an 
equal  angle  on  the  cushion,  and  her  face  calm  and 
placid.  She  was  a  pretty  picture.  Loba  studied  her 
lovingly,  yet  a  little  mockingly,  till  under  the  stead) 
gaze,  Alazais  stirred  uneasily,  and  then  woke  with  a 
guilty  start. 

"  Did  I  really  fall  asleep?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  no! "  replied  Loba  laughingly.    "  I  am  sure 
230 


LOBA  OF  CABARET 

you  would  not  have  been  so  rude,  and  I  a  guest 
arrived  within  the  hour!  You  are  like  good  old  Sister 
Genevieve.  Do  you  remember  how  she  used  to  claim 
she  was  lost  in  meditation,  when  the  whole  convent 
echoed  with  her  snores?  Does  it  seem  five  years 
since  we  had  our  lessons  with  her,  and  breathed  out 
long  confidences  to  each  other  under  the  trees  in  the 
garden?  " 

"It  is  like  yesterday  to  me,"  replied  Alazais. 
"  Tell  me  about  yourself  since  the  day  you  left  the 
convent,  when  my  eyes  were  so  swollen  with  tears 
that  I  could  scarcely  see  your  blurred  shadow  dis- 
appear down  the  road!  " 

"  It  is  little  enough  I  have  to  say,"  Loba  began. 
"  I  married  within  the  year  and  went  to  Cabaret,  as 
you  know.  My  husband  has  a  twin  brother  with 
whom  he  shares  the  domain.  This  brother  has  a 
wife,  who,  being  passing  ugly,  must  needs  be  pious. 
She  loves  me  not;  and  though  I  have  my  way  in  spite 
of  her,  I  find  the  unremitting  struggle  something  of 
a  burden.  So  Cabaret  sees  me  only  when  I  lack 
pleasant  invitations  to  visit  elsewhere.  This,  thanks 
be  to  God,  seldom  happens." 

"  I  should  think  there  would  be  trouble  between 
your  husband  and  his  brother.  Tell  me  about 
Jourdain.  I  know  he  cannot  help  but  love  you." 

"  Jourdain  is  the  one  precious  pearl  of  husbands," 
she  declared  solemnly.  "  He  has  not  his  equal  in  all 
Languedoc.  I  grant  you  he  is  not  so  brave  as  Roland, 
so  wise  as  Godefroi,  nor  as  handsome  as  young  Raim- 

231 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

baut;  yet  truly,  I  would  not  change  for  any  of  them. 
He  does  as  I  bid  him,  and  denies  me  nothing.  Better 
than  all  else,  the  more  gallants  I  have  at  my  elbow, 
the  more  he  seems  pleased!  " 

"  Truly,"  said  Alazais,  "  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
should  like  his  double  for  myself.  While  I  could  not 
love  a  jealous  husband,  neither  would  I  have  one  too 
complacent." 

At  this  Loba  laughed. 

"  Tell  me,  sweet  sister,  what  would  you  for  a  hus- 
band ?  Every  young  girl  has  her  ideal.  Do  you  hope 
to  find  him  in  the  Count  of  Beziers,  to  whom  you  are 
betrothed?  If  reports  be  true,  he  cares  not  to  share 
any  of  his  possessions  with  his  neighbor,  and  will 
insist  on  keeping  even  his  wife's  smiles  to  himself." 

Alazais  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"  I  must  confess  he  is  not  all  to  my  liking,  but  one 
cannot  chose  as  can  a  peasant  girl  who  selects  the  lad 
that  pleases  her.  When  my  father  and  the  Count  of 
Beziers  became  reconciled  after  their  quarrel,  it  was 
agreed  that  our  marriage  should  be  the  pledge  of  con- 
tinued friendship.  My  father  says  that  the  Count  is 
a  just  man,  and  will  be  kind  to  me.  I  can  hardly 
expect  more  than  that,  and  must  remember  that 
through  my  marriage  I  am  bringing  an  assured  peace 
to  many  people." 

"  But,"  persisted  Loba,  "  if  you  were  quite  free  to 
choose,  if  you  were  a  peasant  girl  in  the  vineyard, 
you  would  take  a  different  man,  would  you  not?  I 
wonder,  would  he  be  like  Raimbaut?  How  hand- 

232 


LOBA  OF  CABARET 

some  he  looked  with  the  sun  shining  in  his  face,  the 
touch  of  red  on  his  brow!  " 

"  If  I  could  order  a  man  to  please  me,"  replied 
Alazais,  "  I  certainly  should  make  some  changes  in 
Messire  Raimbaut.  When  he  came  to  us  from  Vac- 
queiras,  he  was  as  untrained  as  a  goatherd  from  the 
hills.  He  was  not  already  spoiled  like  Miraval,  nor 
unattractive  like  Folquet,  nor  wholly  wrapped  up  in 
the  hopes  of  knighthood  like  Bonifaz.  He  had  been 
taught  arms,  had  learned  to  read  the  langue  d'Oc 
well  and  Latin  easily.  I  have  taken  great  pains  to 
train  him,  and  he  has  been  an  apt  pupil.  But  he  is 
far  from  perfect.  I  have  no  delusions  about  him." 

"  Faith,  I  would  not  mind  giving  him  a  few  lessons 
myself,"  declared  Loba.  "  I  am  not  sure  just  what 
he  would  learn  from  me,  but  I  should  relish  that 
teaching  well.  He  would  be  safer  in  the  hands  of  a 
kind  old  lady  like  myself,  being  much  too  handsome 
for  a  castle  where  there  is  a  young  maiden  with  a 
susceptible  heart.  I  warn  you  I  shall  take  him  with 
me  to  Cabaret,  unless  you  really  love  him!  Ask  me 
to  leave  him  to  you,  and  I  shall  do  nothing  but  frown 
upon  him!  " 

As  she  spoke,  Loba,  in  spite  of  her  laughing  speech, 
watched  Alazais  keenly  from  under  her  long  lashes, 
and  did  not  fail  to  notice  a  touch  of  color  and  a  slight 
start  at  the  mention  of  her  plan. 

"  I  have  no  love  for  Raimbaut,"  answered  Alazais 
proudly,  "  and  no  liking  that  would  make  me  heart- 
sore  should  he  leave  me.  You  are  welcome  to  him, 

233 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

if  he  choose  to  go  with  you.  It  is  understood  that  he 
shall  come  to  Beziers  after  I  am  married;  but  I  am 
willing  to  waive  all  claims  to  him." 

Loba  opened  her  eyes  very  wide,  and  shook  her 
finger  warningly. 

"  Beware,  mademoiselle,  that  you  tell  me  the  whole 
truth,  for  I  shall  take  you  at  your  word.  Let  no  silly 
pride  keep  you  from  confession." 

"  Loba,"  declared  Alazais,  piqued  at  such  persist- 
ence, "  I  have  nothing  to  confess." 

"  And  it  is  a  wonder,  too,  for  you  have  lived  these 
four  years  with  this  handsome  youth  at  your  elbow. 
You  will  pardon  me  if  I  tell  you  it  speaks  not  well  for 
your  taste?  I  am  an  older  friend,  so  it  was  doubly 
good  of  me  to  allow  you  the  prior  claim  which  you 
did  not  care  to  take.  Long  ago  we  were  in  the  Gar- 
den of  Love  at  Courthezon,  when  Raimbaut  sud- 
denly appeared,  resplendent  in  a  mantle  of  bright 
colors.  The  Count  showed  a  strange  friendliness  for 
him;  nor  were  such  likings  common  to  the  fat  old 
baron,  who  loved  himself  to  distraction.  The  boy 
disappeared  as  quickly  as  he  came,  after  a  struggle 
with  a  wolf-hound  which  he  slew.  At  his  departure 
the  Count  was  almost  crazed  with  grief  and  died  that 
same  night.  There  were  many  questionings  by  those 
who  knew  the  old  Count's  gallantries.  I  missed  the 
boy  sadly,  for  I  had  lost  half  my  heart  to  him." 

"  I  must  tell  you,"  said  Alazais,  lifting  her  head 
a  little  assertively,  "  that  I  am  one  who  does  not  at 
all  believe  in  the  '  losing  of  hearts,'  the  '  passion  of 

234 


LOBA  OF  CABARET 

love,'  or  '  an  inclination  '  beyond  the  power  of  the 
will  and  reason  to  control." 

She  poised  herself  a  trifle  more  aggressively  on  her 
high  seat  and  assumed  an  air  of  authority,  very  much 
to  Loba's  amusement.  The  latter  had  been  reclining 
on  the  couch  in  an  attitude  of  careless  unrestraint. 
She  now  turned  and  faced  Alazais,  her  chin  resting  on 
the  palm  of  her  hand,  and  listened  attentively  to  the 
homily,  — 

"  Many  of  us  forget  that  '  joy '  and  '  young- 
heartedness  '  become  license,  unless  indulged  in  mod- 
eration and  held  by  the  leash  of  restraint.  It  is  one 
of  the  faults  of  this  Messire  Raimbaut,  whom  you 
think  so  perfect,  that  he  is  not  open  to  reason  on  this 
point,  though  often  have  I  argued  with  him.  He 
believes  that  when  a  grand  passion  comes  to  us,  or,  as 
he  calls  it,  '  Perfect  Love,'  we  should  give  ourselves 
up  to  it  without  reserve.  He  says  that  God  is  Love 
and  Love  is  God.  I  claim  that  we  should  avoid  any 
impulse  and  resist  any  feeling  likely  to  overcome  us: 
that  we  should  always  hold  ourselves  in  the  '  bond  of 
mesura.'  Tell  me,  why  cannot  a  man  and  woman 
have  a  friendship  for  each  other  without  spoiling  it 
by  silly  thoughts?  " 

"  That  question  I  cannot  answer,  my  pretty  Ala- 
zais. But  since  the  world  began,  I  believe  a  bond 
like  this  has  never  lasted.  Your  '  friendship  '  be- 
tween man  and  woman  either  warms  into  love,  or 
cools  into  indifference." 

"  I  grant  you,"  replied  Alazais,  "  that  this  is  not 

235 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

possible  among  peasants,  or  between  some  coarse 
baron  and  careless  demoiselle.  With  Raimbaut  and 
myself,  however,  it  has  stood  a  four  years'  test,  and  I 
see  no  reason  to  doubt  its  continuance.  Passion  is 
like  a  hot  fire  that  quickly  burns  itself  out.  I  can 
love  sincerely  and  truly,  but  never  so  strongly  as  to 
lose  my  self-control." 

"  That  the  saints  keep  you  in  this  mind,  is  my 
heartfelt  prayer! "  said  Loba.  Rising  from  the 
couch,  she  stretched  her  long  arms  above  her  head. 
"  Enough  of  Raimbaut  and  enough  of  love.  Tell  me, 
Alazais,  when  are  you  to  be  married?  " 

"The  marriage  is  planned  for  October,"  replied  Ala- 
zais, a  little  disappointed  in  having  a  subject  changed, 
concerning  which  she  plainly  had  more  to  say.  "  I 
have  already  many  pretty  things  gathered  together  in 
my  wardrobe,  which  I  shall  enjoy  showing  you." 

"  Let  us  take  the  first  rainy  morning,"  replied 
Loba,  "  for  now  I  must  go  to  my  room  and  have  my 
bath  so  that  I  shall  be  ready  for  dinner.  Think  you 
Messire  Raimbaut  will  be  there?  For  if  he  is,  I  must 
wear  a  new  robe  to  make  a  good  impression!  " 

"  I  think  he  will  scarcely  appear  before  supper. 
He  was  completely  exhausted,  and  is  probably  good 
for  a  ten  hours'  sleep." 

."  Then  very  simple  attire  will  do,  since  there  is  no 
other  man  here  I  care  to  please.  You  are  sure  you 
do  not  mind  if  I  make  an  effort  to  attract  him,  my 
dear  Alazais?  " 

"  I  am  quite  sure,  my  sweet  Loba." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MOON   MADNESS 

RAIMBAUT  found  himself  very  stiff  and  sore  when 
he  awoke  in  the  late  afternoon.  For  a  long  time  he 
lay  still,  not  caring  to  stir,  his  mind  full  of  memories. 
He  could  see  his  father's  squire  examining  the  gaunt- 
let in  the  red  glare  of  the  fire-light.  He  could  hear 
his  exclamation,  "  There  is  the  clue!  "  as  he  pointed 
to  the  tuft  of  hair  caught  between  the  steel-backed 
fingers.  And  now  the  red  roan  horse  on  which  his 
father's  enemy  had  ridden  was  his  very  own.  Even 
the  armor  which  Berguedan  had  worn  was  forfeited 
to  him.  It  was  all  very  hard  to  believe.  He  was 
wondering  if  it  might  not  be  a  dream,  when  he  noticed 
a  rustling  in  the  corner  of  the  room;  then  Jacques 
came  to  the  side  of  the  couch.  When  he  discovered 
that  his  master  was  awake,  he  fell  on  his  knees  and 
embraced  him  again  and  again. 

1 '  Tell  me  that  you  are  not  hurt.  Since  early  morn- 
ing I  have  mourned  and  suffered  as  if  you  were  really 
dead." 

"  And  yet,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  did  not  I  tell  you 
that  you  should  see  me  ride  into  the  courtyard  on  the 
red  roan,  with  my  enemy's  armor  rattling  from  my 
saddle?  " 

"  Berguedan's  harness  hangs  in  the  corner,"  said 
Jacques.  "  You  have  made  sad  havoc  with  the 

237 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

hauberk,  which  is  cut  in  a  dozen  places.  It  is  unfor- 
tunate," he  continued,  a  smile  lighting  his  face  for 
the  first  time,  "  that  in  order  to  win  an  opponent's 
armor,  you  must  first  spoil  it." 

"  Indeed,"  declared  Raimbaut,  "  I  had  little  time 
to  think  of  that  when  I  stood  within  reach  of  the 
Spaniard  this  morning.  The  saints  be  thanked  that 
I  came  out  of  the  conflict  alive!  " 

Although  unwounded,  Raimbaut  was  scarce  able  to 
stand  when  he  rose  from  his  couch ;  but  a  cold  bath 
and  a  good  rub  down  by  Jacques  relieved  him  greatly, 
and  he  found  himself  well  able  to  dress. 

When  he  entered  the  great  hall  for  supper,  it  was 
evident  that  the  Count  had  arranged  to  pay  him 
special  honor.  The  room  was  crowded  with  guests, 
the  floor  strewn  with  flowers,  and  the  harps  and  viols 
playing  a  triumphal  strain.  Every  one  rose  and 
shouted,  "  Noel  to  the  Sire  of  Vacqueiras!  "  The 
seneschal  ushered  him  to  a  seat  between  Alazais  and 
the  Countess  Loba,  only  one  place  removed  from 
Raimon  himself.  Near  him  was  the  Count  of  Caba- 
ret, pale  and  slender,  with  the  vacant  smile  which 
Raimbaut  remembered  so  well.  Loba,  on  the  con- 
trary, had  changed  greatly  since  the  day  she  laughed 
at  the  boy  with  the  severed  mantle  in  the  Garden  of 
Love  at  Courth£zon.  The  lines  of  her  girlish  figure 
had  ripened  into  perfect  womanhood.  There  were 
still  a  few  freckles  on  her  forehead,  but  none  on  her 
shoulders  or  breast,  which  gleamed  white  as  those  of 
the  foam-goddess  herself.  Beautiful  as  was  Alazais, 

238 


MOON  MADNESS 

the  Countess  of  Cabaret  lost  nothing  by  comparison. 
After  the  first  words  of  greeting  and  congratulation, 
Raimbaut  turned  to  Alazais,  who  said,  — 

"Thank  God  you  are  safe  and  sound  to-night!  " 

She  was  so  plainly  struggling  with  her  emotion  that 
Raimbaut,  to  give  her  an  opportunity  to  compose 
herself,  turned  to  Loba  on  his  left.  She  was  talking 
to  Count  Raimon  with  a  charming  assumption  of 
injury. 

"  And  have  I  not  good  reason  for  complaint?  I 
ride  into  your  courtyard  on  my  cream-colored  palfrey, 
bravely  apparelled,  with  my  husband  at  my  elbow 
and  six  good  men-at-arms  behind  me.  What  is  the 
greeting  I  receive?  " 

"  Truly,"  replied  Raimon,  "  no  reception  could  be 
adequate  for  so  beautiful  a  guest." 

"  Well,  let  me  tell  you,"  continued  Loba,  "  that 
I  find  a  surging  crowd  crying,  '  Noel  to  Raimbaut! ' 
and  not  a  single  word  of  praise  or  welcome  for  me. 
Not  one  '  Noel  to  Loba! '  do  I  hear." 

"My  regret  overwhelms  me! "  exclaimed  Raimon. 

"  Then  I  learn  from  a  stout  merchant  in  the  crowd 
that  the  Sire  of  Vacqueiras  has  won  a  notable  victory 
in  the  lists  over  Berguedan  the  Catalonian.  The 
merchant  also  tells  me  that  this  same  Raimbaut  has 
a  voice  like  a  nightingale,  and  finds  songs  equal  to 
those  of  Bernart  himself.  Now  let  me  ask,  why  did 
this  valuable  young  man  exchange  his  lute  for  a 
sword,  and  run  the  risk  of  having  his  throat  cut  and 
his  sweet  voice  stilled  for  ever?  " 

239 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

At  this,  in  spite  of  his  wish  to  be  jocular,  the  Count 
grew  grave  as  he  said,  — 

"  God  knows  that  it  was  with  great  reluctance  that 
I  allowed  the  combat  to  take  place.  I  promise  you 
there  shall  not  be  such  another  while  I  reign  here  in 
Toulouse." 

"  A  good  resolution,"  answered  Loba.  "  Men 
should  remember  that  over  every  gay  youth  spoiled 
for  love,  there  is  a  woman  who  mourns.  I  say 
woman,  but  there  may  be  more  than  one.  Some  of 
these  young  men  have  large  hearts  and  can  win  the 
affection  of  many.  For  this  same  Raimbaut,  whom 
you  allowed  to  fight  to-day,  I  must  confess  that  I 
have  long  had  a  tenderness.  Indeed,  I  told  him  four 
years  ago,  that,  had  I  not  been  pledged  to  Jourdain, 
I  would  gladly  have  waited  for  him  to  grow  a  man." 

She  was  now  so  evidently  talking  for  him  to  hear, 
that  Raimbaut  interposed. 

"If  the  noble  Countess  still  loves  me,  we  will  draw 
lots  whether  she  is  to  flavor  her  husband's  wine,  or  I 
am  to  stumble  against  him  on  the  edge  of  a  parapet." 

At  this  cold-blooded  suggestion  Loba  turned  to 
Raimbaut,  and  not  to  his  regret,  though  he  lost  the 
sight  of  her  red  braids  and  the  line  of  her  rounded 
neck  and  shoulder.  First  remarking  to  Count  Rai- 
mon,  "  I  hope  he  has  not  heard  too  much  of  my  con- 
versation, for  young  men  are  easily  elated!  "  she 
changed  her  mocking  manner  and  said,  "  Messire 
Raimbaut,  I  never  doubted  we  should  meet  again, 
although  you  left  us  so  abruptly  at  Courthezon." 

240 


MOON  MADNESS 

"  I  remember  that  I  neglected  to  bid  you  farewell; 
but  truly,  my  thoughts  were  of  none  but  you  as  I 
climbed  the  wall.  Had  I  dreamed  you  were  so  de- 
voted to  me  I  should  have  remained,  though  death 
itself  threatened." 

"  Well-spoken!  A  smooth  speech  indeed!  I  con- 
fess I  like  it;  though  I  know  you  gave  me  no  thought. 
Have  you  ever  heard  what  followed  your  departure?" 

"  No  single  word  has  come  to  me,  though  often  I 
have  wondered.  All  I  know  is  that  the  good  Count 
of  Courthezon  died  suddenly.  May  he  rest  in 
peace." 

"  Amen :  So  may  all  Christian  souls,"  echoed  Loba, 
settling  herself  comfortably  in  her  chair.  "  I  have 
looked  forward  to  telling  you  this  tale  in  some 
secluded  spot,  undisturbed  by  the  din  of  dishes,  the 
shuffling  of  servants  and  voices  of  ten-score  people. 
I  had  dreamed  of  an  arbor  in  a  garden  like  that  at 
Courthezon  where  we  first  met." 

'  There  is  a  green  bower,"  interrupted  Raimbaut, 
"  here  in  the  garden  overlooking  the  river.  Shall  I 
meet  you  there  to-morrow  after  None?  " 

At  this  bold  suggestion,  Loba's  eyes  flashed  mer- 
rily, but  she  answered  with  an  assumption  of 
primness,  — 

"  What,  meet  a  young  man  in  an  arbor?  Never! 
Unless  I  bring  Jourdain  with  me.  I  am  much  safer 
here.  Well  do  I  remember  the  night  you  ran  away 
from  Courthezon.  We  were  at  table.  The  Count 
was  with  us,  looking  like  a  corpse  after  his  week's 

241 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

illness.  I  was  telling  my  story  of  the  were-wolf  of 
Lastours.  At  risk  of  seeming  vain,  I  must  say  I  do 
this  passing  well !  There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the 
hall,  so  that  naught  could  be  heard  but  my  own 
voice  and  the  crackling  of  the  fire  on  the  hearth.  As 
I  paused  for  effect  in  the  thrilling  part,  where  the 
wolf  sat  up  on  his  haunches  under  the  blasted  pines 
and  told  the  poor  peasant  girl  he  was  her  long  lost 
lover,  there  came  an  awful  shriek  which  fairly  froze 
the  air  about  us.  It  was  followed  by  the  sound  of 
flying  footsteps  drawing  nearer,  and  Guilhem  tore 
through  the  leather  curtain  at  the  door,  rushing  down 
the  hall,  overturning  a  servant  laden  with  empty 
platters,  and  threw  himself  at  the  Count's  feet,  cling- 
ing to  his  knees  in  an  agony  of  fear.  His  cheeks  were 
like  chalk  and  his  eyes  protruded  like  those  of  a 
gargoyle  on  the  Church  of  Saint  Sernin.  His  teeth 
chattered  so  he  could  scarcely  speak,  and  only  after 
I  had  grown  impatient  and  given  him  a  good  shaking, 
could  he  gather  his  wits  together  and  tell  us  that  he 
had  found  a  fiend  of  hell  grinning  in  his  bed!  He 
confessed  he  had  but  a  moment's  glimpse  of  the  inter- 
loper, for  he  had  dropped  his  torch  on  the  floor.  He 
was  certain,  however,  that  the  fiend  wore  a  mantle  of 
fire,  had  a  yellow  face  with  a  mouth  that  opened  to 
the  ears,  and  teeth  like  the  tusks  of  a  wild  boar." 

"  Indeed,"  declared  Raimbaut,  "  I  can  see  the  pic- 
ture as  if  it  were  yesterday.  Touche  and  the  mantle 
are  alike  memories  which  Time  cannot  dim." 

"At  Guilhem's  tale,"  continued  Loba,  "  there  was 
242 


MOON  MADNESS 

great  consternation.  Those  of  the  ladies  who  had 
pleasant  table  companions  swooned  on  their  shoul- 
ders, and  those  who  had  only  graybeards  at  their  sides 
showed  their  terror  by  screaming  lustily.  I  was  sure 
the  boy  was  only  suffering  from  an  evil  dream,  and 
promptly  declared  my  willingness  to  pay  a  visit  to 
the  chamber,  in  spite  of  the  presence  of  Satan.  So 
a  few  of  us  (and  truly  some  of  the  stouter  knights 
remained  behind)  climbed  the  winding  stairway  to 
Guilhem's  room  in  the  tower.  I  was  first  to  enter, 
but  when  the  torches  cast  their  flickering  light  on 
the  bed,  I  confess  that  for  once  in  my  life  I  was 
thoroughly  frightened.  My  heart  stood  still  and  my 
knees  trembled  with  terror.  Oh,  the  gruesome  sight! 
Touche's  glazed  eyes  looked  straight  at  us,  her  mouth 
was  open  as  with  a  grin  of  malice,  and  your  mantle  on 
her  shoulders  was  like  an  infernal  flame.  The  young 
Baron  of  Jonquieres  was  so  panic-stricken  that  he 
threw  down  his  torch,  and  stopped  not  until  he  had 
reached  the  dining-hall.  He  lost  a  shoe  at  the  top  of 
the  stairs,  and  rolled  all  the  way  down.  The  men 
who  had  courage  to  stay  with  me  drew  back  the  cover- 
let, pulled  the  long  body  out  of  the  bed,  and  examined 
the  gaping  wounds  as  the  corpse  lay  on  the  floor.  We 
could  not  understand  what  had  happened  or  what 
the  terrible  masquerade  meant.  Finally  Guilhem 
was  brought  up  and  forced  to  confess  that  he  had  left 
you  shut  up  with  Touche  in  the  tapestry-room.  He 
also  recognized  the  dagger  still  sticking  in  Touche's 
ribs  as  yours." 

243 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  It  was  a  toy  weapon,"  said  Raimbaut,  "  and  I 
was  resolved  there  should  be  no  uncertainty  as  to 
who  had  slain  the  wolf-hound." 

"  Then  we  tramped  through  the  long  corridor,  and 
God  knows  my  heart  was  full  of  forebodings.  The 
haunted  room  told  its  story  as  plainly  as  any  book. 
The  tapestry  was  covered  with  splashes  of  blood 
and  pierced  by  a  dozen  dagger-thrusts.  There  was 
evidence  of  a  terrible  struggle.  Where  had  the  boy 
gone?  Was  he  torn  by  Touche  before  he  killed  her? 
Our  fears  were  quieted  by  the  suggestion  that  any  one 
who  could  drag  a  huge  beast  like  Touche  up  the  steep 
stairs  could  not  have  been  much  injured.  When  we 
returned  to  the  hall  we  found  Count  Raimbaut  col- 
lapsed in  his  chair.  Strange  to  say,  however,  it  was 
not  fear  of  the  devil  that  possessed  him,  but  anxiety 
concerning  your  fate.  His  fat  body  was  convulsed 
with  sobs  and  his  round  face  wet  with  tears.  On 
hearing  our  story,  he  relieved  himself  by  cursing 
Guilhem  until  he  had  exhausted  both  his  stock  of 
oaths  and  his  breath.  I  really  feared  for  the  man's 
life,  for  he  was  in  no  condition  to  undergo  such  an 
ordeal.  Indeed,  he  seemed  aged  a  score  of  years 
when  he  was  taken  to  his  room.  His  last  words  were 
to  order  that  the  castle  and  village  should  be  searched, 
and  if  you  were  not  found,  the  country  for  miles 
around  must  be  explored.  He  never  learned  the 
result  of  the  quest,  for  his  own  soul  departed  ere  the 
dawn.  —  Tell  me,"  inquired  Loba,  looking  at  him 
keenly,  "why  did  the  Count  bring  you  toCourthezon? 

244 


MOON  MADNESS 

Why  was  he  so  anxious  for  your  return?  Do  you 
know  he  offered  one  thousand  deniers  for  you  safe  and 
sound,  and  five  hundred  for  your  worthless  body?  " 

Raimbaut  had  listened  spellbound  to  the  sequel 
of  his  adventure  with  Touche.  He  answered,  "  I 
have  not  the  slightest  inkling  to  the  Count's  liking 
for  me.  Dear  lady,"  continued  he,  laughing,  "  you 
seem  to  forget  what  a  universal  favorite  I  am.  But 
in  all  seriousness  I  tell  you  that  I  am  sorry  I  repaid 
the  old  Count's  kindness  so  poorly,  and  that  I  had 
no  chance  to  speak  with  him  again." 

All  this  time  Alazais  had  seen  nothing  of  Raim- 
baut but  his  broad  shoulders.  She  had  been  forced 
to  turn  to  a  young  baron  who  regaled  her  with  a  long 
tale  concerning  the  virtues  of  a  colt  which  he  was 
training.  Compared  with  this  brown  colt,  he  assured 
Alazais,  the  red  roan  was  but  a  plough-horse. 

When  Loba  ended  her  story,  she  engaged  in  a  duel 
of  wits  with  Count  Raimon.  Alazais,  however,  kept 
her  back  rigidly  turned  to  Raimbaut,  though  thereby 
she  invoked  upon  her  head  an  explicit  recital  of  the 
colt's  pedigree,  with  interminable  descriptions  of  the 
merits  both  of  sire  and  dam. 

Raimbaut  realized  that  he  had  been  neglectful,  and 
was  touched  with  remorse.  He  devoted  himself 
assiduously  to  bring  back  the  smile  to  Alazais'  pretty 
face  and  finally  succeeded.  They  talked  together  in 
low  tones  or  with  glances  that  needed  no  assistance 
from  words,  till  interrupted  at  last  by  Loba. 

"  My  dear  Alazais,  these  flowers  are  beautiful,  but 

245 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

their  odor  is  oppressive.  If  I  swoon,  I  hope  my  long 
body  may  be  carried  out  as  decently  as  possible, 
and  that  my  feet  and  ankles  may  not  be  too  con- 
spicuous." 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  Alazais,  with  solicitude. 
"  The  scent  is  overwhelming,  and  the  room  is  hot. 
Messire  Raimbaut  will  take  you  to  the  garden  for  a 
little  while,  and  on  your  return  you  will  find  all  the 
casements  open." 

As  Loba  rose  from  her  seat  there  were  many  expres- 
sions of  concern,  but  she  answered  languidly  that  she 
only  needed  a  little  air.  Leaning  on  Raimbaut's 
arm,  she  was  followed  by  admiring  eyes  to  the  half- 
open  door,  through  which  she  disappeared:  a  vision 
of  loveliness. 

The  moon  was  at  the  full,  the  sky  almost  as  azure 
as  at  noonday,  and  the  wind  fragrant  with  the  odor 
of  the  orange-blossoms.  The  garden  was  still  and 
shadowy,  but  splashed  with  moonlight  even  in  the  far 
corners  by  the  ivy-covered  wall.  The  paths  wound 
white  and  gleaming  between  the  hedges,  and  the 
branches  were  stirred  by  a  light  breeze  from  the 
river.  Somewhere  among  the  leaves  a  nightingale 
was  singing,  the  notes  throbbing  as  if  his  breast  were 
really  against  the  legendary  thorn. 

For  a  moment  the  two  stood  in  silence.  Raimbaut 
did  not  care  to  speak,  and  what  was  in  Loba's  mind, 
she  did  not  tell.  She  seemed  weak,  and  Raimbaut 
was  about  to  lead  her  to  a  seat,  when  he  suddenly 
found  himself  among  the  branches  of  a  hawthorn 

246 


MOON  MADNESS 

bush,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  Loba's  light  robe  as 
she  ran  swiftly  down  the  moonlit  path  and  dis- 
appeared at  the  first  curve. 

It  was  several  seconds  before  Raimbaut  realized 
that  he  had  been  unceremoniously  pushed  into  the 
bush,  although  he  was  spurred  to  his  feet  by  the 
thorns.  There  was  no  sound  now  in  all  the  garden. 
He  hurried  down  the  path,  looking  keenly  to  right 
and  to  left  as  he  passed,  and  came  at  last  to  the  mar- 
gin of  the  river.  Back  again  he  turned,  following 
the  shadow  of  the  wall,  until  he  heard  a  cry  which 
seemed  to  rise  from  the  dense  shrubbery  behind  him. 

He  turned  quickly  and  ran  back  at  full  speed,  but 
could  find  no  trace  of  Loba.  Again  and  again  he 
followed  her  call  and  the  sound  of  her  footsteps. 
Once  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her;  but  when  he  reached 
the  spot,  she  had  disappeared  as  if  by  magic.  At 
last,  made  wise  by  failure,  when  she  called  to  him,  he 
ran  only  a  few  steps  and  returned  quickly  to  the  place 
which  he  had  left.  Then  there  was  a  dove-like  flutter 
and  Loba  flew  straight  into  his  arms.  She  made  no 
attempt  to  escape,  but  leaned  heavily  on  his  shoulder, 
quite  out  of  breath.  Raimbaut  held  her  contentedly 
until  she  drew  a  long  sigh  and  freed  herself  from  his 
embrace. 

"  I'  faith,  madam,"  declared  he,  "  for  one  so  faint 
and  languid,  you  have  led  me  a  merry  chase." 

"  I  confess  that  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life.  It 
was  deadly  dull  at  table,  and  I  was  tired  of  the  stuffy 
room.  Perhaps  I  wished  to  have  you  to  myself  a 

247 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

little  while.  I  think,  too,  the  moonbeams  took  pos- 
session of  my  senses.  Now  I  must  put  myself  to 
rights  and  we  will  return.  I  am  sorry,  however,  to 
inform  you,  Messire  Raimbaut,  that  we  have  remained 
already  a  fatal  five  minutes  too  long  in  the  garden. 
I  warn  you,  every  woman  in  the  hall  will  look  doubt- 
fully at  me,  and  some  of  the  men  will  envy  you." 

This  prophesy  was  fulfilled,  for  when  they  entered 
the  room,  there  were  many  who  noticed  Loba's  bright 
eyes  and  Raimbaut's  flushed  cheeks.  Alazais  ob- 
served that  one  long  red  braid  was  half  unplaited,  the 
tresses  hanging  loose;  yet  she  greeted  her  friend  cor- 
dially, with  expressions  of  pleasure  at  her  recovery. 
When  affairs  had  settled  themselves,  Count  Raimon 
rose  and  said,  — 

"  This  day  leaves  me  with  conflicting  emotions.  I 
have  broken  a  vow  sacred  for  many  years.  I  have 
looked  upon  two  men  in  deadly  combat,  and  one  of 
them  lying  wounded  near  to  death.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  have  seen  the  proud  humbled  and  knighthood 
refused  because  of  a  high  ideal.  Messire  Raimbaut 
has  fought  to-day  for  the  honor  of  Toulouse.  I  be- 
lieve he  was  right  in  refusing  his  golden  spurs.  Yet 
he  must  not  deprive  me  of  the  privilege  of  bestowing 
on  him  the  armor  in  which  he  fought  and  the  horse 
on  which  he  rode.  To  these  I  have  added  a  sum  of 
gold  for  his  free  use.  He  has  grown  to  manhood 
among  us  and  won  the  respect  of  all.  I  pledge  his 
health  to-night:  I  bid  you  drink  to  the  honor  of 
Raimbaut  of  Vacqueiras!  " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   CHOICE 

THE  month  that  Loba  spent  in  Toulouse  was  not 
soon  forgotten.  At  the  end  of  the  first  week  she 
knew  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  the  palace,  and 
called  each  one  familiarly  by  name.  The  chatelaines 
eyed  her  a  trifle  doubtfully,  as  they  thought  of  their 
susceptible  husbands,  and  the  demoiselles  were  jealous 
of  her  influence  over  restive  lovers;  but  the  children 
followed  her  devotedly,  and  the  men  became  her 
slaves.  From  Count  Raimon  to  his  tiniest  page, 
no  one  could  resist  the  magic  of  her  smile,  which 
Miraval  in  a  chanson  declared  was  "  warmer  than 
any  other  woman's  caress." 

"  Truly,"  said  she  one  day  when  there  were  a  dozen 
men  about  her,  "  I  think  my  heart  is  large  enough  to 
love  you  all  —  a  little." 

She  chatted  with  the  graybeards,  coquetted  with 
the  gallants,  and  took  possession  of  every  man  in 
the  palace  save  one.  Only  Bonifaz  withstood  her. 
Never  greatly  interested  in  women,  he  disliked  Loba 
from  the  beginning.  Quick  to  notice  his  antipathy, 
it  became  a  source  of  never-ceasing  amusement  to 
her.  Whenever  possible,  she  distinguished  him  by 
attentions  which  made  him  ridiculous.  As  for  the 
other  squires,  their  infatuation  was  pitiful.  Of  Loba 
they  dreamed,  of  Loba  they  thought  every  waking 

249 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

hour.  Many  were  the  songs  written  in  her  praise. 
Each  finally  devoted  himself  to  putting  a  serenade  to 
music,  and  one  fine  evening  Guilhem  appeared  in  the 
garden  under  her  window.  The  next  night  came 
Miraval,  who  was  followed  by  Folquet,  the  order  of 
the  appearance  having  been  decided  by  lot.  Each 
of  the  young  gallants  was  rewarded  by  a  smile  and  a 
red  rose  dropped  from  her  casement.  All  having 
been  granted  the  same  modest  favors,  there  was  a 
heated  debate :  which  had  received  the  warmest  smile 
and  the  largest  rose?  Careful  examination  proved 
that  the  finest  flower  had  undoubtedly  been  given  to 
Guilhem,  but  the  degree  of  graciousness  in  the  smile 
was  of  necessity  left  an  undecided  question. 

Encouraged  by  their  reception,  the  three  squires 
decided  to  try  their  fortunes  again;  but  when  on  the 
fourth  night  Guilhem  reappeared,  Loba  took  no 
notice  of  him.  The  little  fellow  retired  almost  in 
tears,  much  to  the  gratification  of  his  rivals.  When 
Miraval,  however,  made  his  second  sally,  Loba  looked 
down  upon  him  as  he  gave  the  last  touch  to  his  lute, 
and  with  a  voice  in  which  were  accents  both  of  amuse- 
ment and  annoyance,  said,  — 

"  My  dear  Count  of  Miraval,  you  sing  like  Philo- 
mel! Your  attention  flatters  me  —  but  you  keep 
me  awake.  Unless  I  get  my  beauty-sleep  I  shall  grow 
worn  and  haggard,  and  you  will  no  longer  love  me. 
In  the  name  of  good  Saint  Cecily,  go  back  to  bed  and 
let  me  rest  in  peace." 

This  ended  the  serenades  and  the  garden  fell  silent, 
250 


THE  CHOICE 

save  for  the  notes  of  the  nightingale.  One  evening, 
after  supper,  they  were  gathered  in  the  hall,  when 
Loba,  feigning  a  sorrow  which  was  contradicted  by 
the  dimple  in  her  cheek,  declared,  - 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  Messires  Miraval, 
Folquet,  and  Guilhem  are  not  unfriendly,  but  I  fear 
Messires  Bonifaz  and  Raimbaut  do  not  return  the 
love  I  bear  them.  Not  once  have  they  sung  to  me, 
though  for  a  full  fortnight  I  have  waited  to  hear 
their  charming  voices.  There  is  no  moon  this  even- 
ing, but  the  stars  are  bright,  the  air  is  mild,  and  I 
have  prayed  my  patron  saint  that  I  may  hear  one  of 
these  'ungallants'  before  I  lay  my  cheek  upon  my 
pillow." 

At  this  there  was  much  gay  laughter,  Bonifaz  and 
Raimbaut  being  rallied  on  all  sides. 

"If  you  do  not  despise  an  old  man's  song,"  declared 
Bernart,  "  I  myself  will  sing  to  you  and  put  these 
young  men  to  shame!" 

"There  is  not  one  of  them  to  compare  with  you!" 
replied  Loba.  "You  have  a  better  voice  and  redder 
blood  in  your  veins;  but  as  I  do  not  doubt  your  de- 
votion, you  shall  not  risk  the  damp  earth  nor  the  night 
wind." 

Even  Count  Raimon  offered  his  services,  but  Loba 
shook  her  head. 

"You  have  shown  your  affection  for  me  in  a  hun- 
dred ways  since  I  came  to  Toulouse.  I  need  no  song 
to  prove  the  love  you  bear  me." 

A  little  later  came  the  torches,  and  Loba  followed 
251 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

them  with  a  glance  full  of  provocation  at  the  recreant 
squires.  When  they  were  alone,  Raimbaut  said  to 
Bonifaz,  — 

"Surely  we  have  been  lacking  in  courtesy  to  our 
guest.  Shall  you,  or  I,  serenade  the  Countess  Loba 
to-night?" 

Bonifaz  replied  decisively,  - 

"You  shall  have  that  honor;  for  not  one  word  of 
praise  have  I  in  my  throat  for  her.  What  will  you 
sing?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Raimbaut,  looking  into 
his  friend's  face  with  a  challenge  in  his  voice.  "l 
have  nothing  good  enough  for  so  gracious  a  chate- 
laine." 

"  Gracious  she  surely  is,"  declared  Bonifaz.  "  I* 
faith,  her  favor  is  a  whit  overwhelming." 

He  would  have  said  more,  but,  catching  the  flash 
in  Raimbaut's  eye,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
went  off  to  bed,  swearing  under  his  breath.  In  spite 
of  their  friendship,  Loba's  presence  had  from  the 
beginning  been  a  source  of  discord  between  the 
comrades.  Raimbaut  resented  Bonifaz'  dislike,  and 
Bonifaz,  seeing  clearly  the  impression  that  was  being 
made  upon  his  friend,  had  not  helped  matters  by  his 
efforts  to  disillusionize  him. 

Raimbaut's  admiration  was  all  the  stronger  foi 
being  held  in  leash.  It  was  partly  because  of  Boni- 
faz's  antipathy,  partly  because  of  Alazais'  silent 
influence,  and  partly  because  of  his  own  doubt  of  him- 
self after  his  experience  in  the  garden,  that  Raimbaut 

252 


THE  CHOICE 

had,  up  to  this  evening,  made  no  effort  to  approach 
Loba.  His  blood  cried  out  for  her,  but  his  soul  bade 
him  beware,  and  the  remembrance  of  his  vow  was 
ever  with  him.  Indeed,  his  hand  often  wandered  to 
the  frayed  corner  of  his  mantle  as  if  it  were  an 
amulet. 

When  Bonifaz  left  him  Raimbaut  went  to  his  room, 
took  his  lute  from  the  corner,  and  hurried  down  the 
steps.  Loba's  window  was  in  a  little  tower  jutting 
out  into  the  garden;  and  under  it  he  took  his 
stand. 

The  night  was  very  quiet.  The  sky  showed  black 
in  the  light  of  the  stars,  and  the  wind  scarce  stirred 
the  branches  over  his  head.  For  a  moment  he  waited, 
and  then,  with  a  single  chord  on  his  lute,  he  sang  so 
gently  that  even  the  nightingale  in  the  hedge  was 
not  silenced. 

"Into  thy  window  the  young  May  moon 

Is  smiling  with  delight; 
Into  thy  window  floats  the  tune 

The  river  trills  to-night; 
Into  thy  window  the  bold  wind  creeps, 
Kissing  thy  cheek,  while  my  lady  sleeps; 

I  can  but  sing  to  theel 

"Into  thy  window  the  garden  sends 

Sweet  perfume,  and  the  rose, 
Climbing  the  bars  of  the  trellis,  bends 

With  every  wind  that  blows; 
Into  thy  window  the  red  rose  peeps, 
Gazing  at  will,  while  my  lady  sleeps; 

I  can  but  sing  to  thee!" 

253 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

Looking  up,  he  saw  Loba's  face  dimly  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

'  I  Can  but  sing  to  thee,'  say  you,  Messire  Raim- 
baut?  Are  you  sure?  You  cannot  float  through  my 
window  like  the  sound  of  the  river  and  the  perfume 
of  the  garden,  for  your  shoulders  are  broad,  and 
alas,  Count  Raimon  has  fixed  these  iron  bars.  Yet 
you  may  climb  to  me  if  you  dare,  and  gaze  into  my 
room  if  you  choose.  It  pleases  me  not  to  hear  so 
charming  a  gallant  warbling  '  I  can  but  sing  to 
thee.'  " 

This  was  "an  unmistakable  challenge;  and  Raim- 
baut,  dropping  his  lute,  began  at  once  to  climb  the 
wall.  It  was  difficult,  but  the  ivy  grew  thick  and 
strong,  and  he  was  soon  gripping  the  iron  bars  and 
staring  into  the  dark  room.  Loba  had  retreated  into 
the  shadows,  where  he  could  not  see  her.  Now  she 
approached,  pale  and  silent  as  a  ghost,  her  eyes  like 
stars.  Then  bending  over  him  so  closely  that  he  could 
breathe  the  fragrance  of  her  white  throat,  she  pressed 
her  moist  lips  to  his.  At  their  touch  the  blood  leaped 
in  his  veins,  and  he  pulled  fiercely  at  the  bars  as 
though  he  would  tear  them  away.  Then  he  grew  so 
weak  with  rapture  that  his  fingers  loosened,  and  he 
fell  with  a  swish  through  the  ivy  leaves  to  the  garden 
below. 

With  a  little  shriek  of  horror  Loba  leaned  out  of 
the  window;  but  Raimbaut  had  fallen  on  the  soft 
earth,  and,  rising  quickly,  cried  out,  — 

"  I  am  not  hurt;  I  have  not  a  single  scratch." 

254 


THE  CHOICE 

"  It  is  the  first  time  I  have  known  a  man  to  throw 
himself  from  such  a  height  to  escape  my  caress," 
replied  Loba.  "  By  my  troth,  Messire  Raimbaut,  I 
will  never  kiss  you  again." 

At  this  he  started  to  mount  the  wall  once  more, 
but  she  forbade  him. 

"  No!  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  care  not  to  buy  Masses 
for  your  soul.  Wait  awhile.  When  you  come  to 
Cabaret  you  will  find  no  bars  to  my  window." 

No  open  breach  lay  between  Alazais  and  Loba,  but 
their  rivalry  was  not  less  real  because  it  was  con- 
cealed. In  spite  of  her  declaration  that  the  Countess 
of  Cabaret  was  welcome  to  Raimbaut  if  he  chose  to 
leave  Toulouse,  she  was  not  willing  to  give  him  up 
without  a  struggle.  She  was  doubly  charming  now 
that  she  forgot  a  little  the  dignity  of  her  position. 
She  chose  a  new  robe  as  blue  as  her  eyes,  and  a  wim- 
ple to  add  to  her  height.  She  even  wore  some  of  the 
garments  folded  carefully  in  her  bridal  chest,  and  a 
jewelled  girdle,  in  spite  of  the  discomfort. 

In  Raimbaut's  heart  there  was  a  conflict,  the  issue 
of  which  he  could  not  himself  foresee.  On  the  one 
hand  were  loyalty,  sincere  affection  for  Alazais,  his 
vow,  his  dream  of  a  Perfect  Love.  On  the  other  was 
a  growing  passion  for  Loba.  In  the  quiet  of  his  room 
it  was  easy  to  decide  that  he  cared  most  for  Alazais, 
and  that  he  could  ask  no  kinder  fate  than  to  sing  her 
praises  at  Beziers.  In  the  presence  of  Loba,  his 
reason  left  him,  so  intoxicated  was  he  by  her  beauty. 
Yet  when  she  laughingly  declared,  "  Messire  Raim- 

255 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

baut,  I  shall  take  you  back  with  me  to  Cabaret,"  he 
did  not  answer. 

One  day  Alazais  had  spoken  seriously  of  the 
future. 

"  Messire  Raimbaut,  we  have  often  talked  about 
your  joining  the  household  of  the  Count  of  Beziers, 
but  I  have  never  formally  invited  you.  I  now  have 
the  consent  of  my  betrothed  husband  to  say  that  we 
shall  both  be  happy  to  have  you  come  to  us." 

Raimbaut  had  replied,  - 

"  Sweet  lady,  you  have  made  me  all  I  am.  A  life 
devoted  to  your  service  would  not  be  sufficient  recom- 
pense." 

"  But  you  must  not  come  to  me  because  of  grati- 
tude," she  had  answered,  a  little  coldly. 

So  the  weeks  passed  until  the  last  day  of  Loba's 
visit  dawned,  and  preparations  were  made  for  depar- 
ture on  the  following  morning.  Raimbaut  realized 
that  he  could  no  longer  postpone  the  question  over 
which  he  had  been  so  long  struggling.  He  went  with 
Alazais  to  Saint  Sernin.  He  knelt  by  her  side,  and 
after  Mass  returned  with  her  to  the  palace.  Not  a 
word  was  spoken  concerning  the  thought  which  was 
uppermost  in  both  their  minds  —  that  this  might  be 
their  last  walk  together. 

Raimbaut  spent  the  morning  with  Bonifaz  and  the 
hawks,  returning  in  time  for  dinner.  Then  he  went 
to  his  room  and  labored  patiently  over  a  sirvente, 
though  his  mind  wandered  and  he  made  little  pro- 
gress. It  was  afternoon  when  he  received  a  message: 

256 


THE  CHOICE 

the  Lady  Alazais  commanded  him  to  come  to  the 
garden. 

It  was  not  an  unusual  summons,  but  he  was  sur- 
prised when  he  saw  Loba  sitting  with  Alazais  on  a 
stone  seat,  underneath  the  spreading  branches.  He 
approached  them  a  trifle  doubtfully,  Alazais  looking 
at  him  intently.  Loba  was  gazing  out  over  the  river, 
and  he  saw  only  the  clear  profile  and  the  splendid 
braids  shining  against  the  background  of  dark  green. 

"  Messire  Raimbaut,"  said  Alazais,  in  a  tone  which 
revealed  her  deep  feeling,  "  the  Countess  has  asked 
you  to  follow  her  to-morrow  to  Cabaret.  I  have 
myself  invited  you  to  come  to  Beziers.  You  have 
replied  to  neither  of  us.  Whither  do  you  choose 
to  go?  " 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  the  conflict  between 
Raimbaut's  reason  and  his  passion  raged  fiercely. 
He  had  thought  in  the  morning  that  he  should  decide 
to  go  to  Beziers.  But  as  he  looked  on  Loba,  he  could 
not  give  her  up.  At  last  he  replied,  — 

"  Truly,  my  lady,  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my 
mind." 

At  this  Loba  turned  to  him  with  a  smile  of  amuse- 
ment. 

"If  the  scale  hang  so  level,  why  not  throw  dice 
for  us?  " 

"  Ah,  no!  "  interposed  Alazais,  "  I  care  not  to  be 
left  to  such  a  gross  hazard." 

Still  Raimbaut  hesitated  until  Loba,  who  seemed 
to  sympathize  with  his  difficulty,  said,  — 

257 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  Let  him  tell  us  after  supper.  Messire  Raimbaut 
is  compassionate,  and  does  not  wish  to  break  either  of 
our  hearts.  Let  him  come  to  the  one  he  chooses,  and 
the  other  will  understand  when  she  sees  him  not. 
What  say  you,  Alazais;  shall  we  leave  it  thus?  " 

"  I  care  not,"  replied  Alazais,  a  little  wearily. 

Raimbaut  was  relieved  to  take  his  departure,  and 
pleased  when  he  received  instructions  from  Count 
Raimon  to  bear  a  message  to  a  baron  several  leagues 
away.  He  galloped  madly  along  the  dusty  road,  but 
returned  slowly,  and  in  the  calm  of  the  night  pon- 
dered the  problem  until  he  solved  it. 

Supper  being  over,  the  palace  was  dark  and  still. 
A  varlet  took  the  tired  horse,  and  Raimbaut  walked 
across  the  court  to  the  low  arch  which  led  to  the 
room  of  Alazais.  He  was  master  of  himself,  his  mind 
at  rest.  He  mounted  the  stair  with  a  firm  step, 
until,  looking  up,  he  saw  Loba. 

She  stood  at  the  top,  the  light  of  a  torch  shining 
full  on  her  red  hair  and  eager  face.  She  had  thrown 
a  heavy  crimson  cloak  over  her  shoulders,  but  it  was 
open  at  the  throat,  and  her  bare  arms  were  outspread, 
the  tips  of  her  fingers  touching  the  cold  walls  on 
either  side.  Her  eyes  were  half-shut,  but  as  Raim- 
baut climbed  the  steps  she  closed  them  wholly,  and 
the  color  left  her  cheek.  He  stopped  just  below  her, 
for  she  barred  his  way.  Smiling  grimly,  he  placed 
his  hand  upon  her  wrist  and  gently  pressed  it  from 
the  wall. 

Up  to  this  moment  his  purpose  to  go  to  Alazais 

258 


THE  CHOICE 

had  not  weakened.  Yet  when  his  brown  hand  closed 
over  the  soft  flesh,  his  will  became  like  water.  He 
paused  irresolutely ;  he  looked  up  appealingly.  Loba 
gave  a  great  sob,  flung  her  white  arms  around  his 
head,  and  crushed  it  to  her  breast. 

"  O  Raimbaut,  come  with  me!  "  was  all  she  said. 

He  answered,  — 

"  I  will  go  with  you." 


CHAPTER  XX 

TOO   GREAT   A   DEBTOR 

THE  early  sunbeams  had  transformed  the  dull 
bricks  of  Toulouse  to  a  rosy  red,  when  Alazais  entered 
the  gate  of  the  palace,  followed  by  a  man-at-arms  and 
a  little  page  carrying  her  book.  She  walked  across 
the  wide  courtyard,  stopping  a  moment  to  caress  an 
old  hound  on  the  sill,  as  if  there  were  no  such  thing 
as  disappointment  in  the  world.  Yet  her  thoughts 
were  bitter  and  her  heart  was  sore.  She  had  waited 
in  her  room  until  long  after  midnight  in  the  expecta- 
tion that  Raimbaut  would  come.  She  had  vainly 
hoped  that  he  would  go  to  Mass  with  her,  but  she 
had  knelt  alone  on  the  cold  gray  stones  of  Saint  Sernin 
and  the  chill  had  reached  her  heart.  She  climbed  the 
stairs  to  her  father's  room,  and  found  him  sitting  in 
his  tall  chair.  Before  him  stood  Raimbaut,  his 
hands  clenched  behind  his  back. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you,  my  daughter,"  Count 
Raimon  began,  "  that  Messire  Raimbaut  has  decided 
to  leave  us." 

"  We  shall  deeply  regret  his  departure,"  said  Ala- 
zais. Then  with  an  air  of  polite  interest,  she  asked, 
"Can  you  tell  us  when  and  where  you  plan  to  go?" 

"  This  morning  —  to  Cabaret,  so  please  you,  Lady 
Alazais." 

"  I  also  regret  to  say,"  continued  Raimon,  "that 
260 


TOO  GREAT  A  DEBTOR 

Messire  Raimbaut  and  I  have  a  disagreement,  which 
I  am  sure  he  will  allow  you  to  settle.  I  wish  to  be- 
stow upon  him  a  sum  of  money,  in  order  that  he  may 
make  his  departure  from  Toulouse  equipped  as  a 
young  man  should  be  who  has  served  four  years  as 
my  squire.  He  insists  that  he  is  already  too  great  a 
debtor.  You  shall  judge  between  us." 

There  was  a  bitter  smile  in  the  corners  of  Alazais' 
mouth. 

"  It  is,  I  believe,  without  precedent  for  a  trouba- 
dour to  decline  a  gift.  If  Messire  Raimbaut  hopes  to 
be  successful  in  his  vocation,  he  must  accept  whatever 
is  offered  him,  and  learn  to  beg  gracefully  for  more. 
Concerning  the  question  you  have  put  to  me,  my  dear 
father,  I  am  sorry  to  decide  against  you.  Messire 
Raimbaut  is  right.  He  is  already  too  great  a  debtor. 
He  deserves  no  further  benefits." 

Count  Raimon,  who  had  looked  to  Alazais  for  as- 
sistance in  persuading  Raimbaut,  was  astonished  at 
her  answer. 

"Not  so,"  he  declared;  "I  must  challenge  the  ver- 
dict. To  Messire  Raimbaut  I  am  under  obligation 
for  many  happy  hours.  He  has  sung  to  me  songs 
whose  value  cannot  be  measured.  When  the  honor 
of  Toulouse  was  assailed,  he  risked  his  life  to  defend 
it.  I  cannot  repay  him  by  an  insignificant  gift, 
though  I  offer  it  with  my  best  wishes  for  success, 
wherever  his  way  may  lead." 

Alazais  was  about  to  speak  when  Raimbaut,  with 
a  bow  full  of  reverence,  said,  — 

261 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

"You  have  both  been  better  to  me  than  I  deserve. 
My  heart  is  sore  that  I  must  seem  ungrateful.  The 
gift  I  cannot  accept.  Farewell!  May  the  angels  of 
God  guide  and  keep  you  both!  " 

With  these  words  Raimbaut  took  his  departure, 
not  daring  to  look  up.  He  had  realized  from  the 
beginning  that  he  could  say  or  do  nothing  which 
would  put  him  in  anything  but  an  unfavorable  light. 
He  knew  that  he  must  appear  infatuated  and  dis- 
loyal. 

There  yet  remained  the  parting  with  his  friends  in 
the  tower.  He  found  Bernart  seated  at  the  window, 
where  he  loved  to  feed  the  doves  and  feel  the  cool 
breeze  from  the  river.  Scarce  replying  to  the  cordial 
greeting,  Raimbaut  plunged  abruptly  into  his  story. 
He  had  barely  finished,  when  the  old  troubadour 
clasped  his  hand,  and  said,  — 

"  I  think  you  are  taking  a  wise  step,  my  boy.  You 
have  my  hearty  good  wishes.  A  young  man  must 
follow  his  heart  wherever  it  may  lead  him.  You 
could  not  continue  for  ever  here  at  Toulouse,  clinging 
like  a  cat  to  the  fireside,  nor  could  you  follow  the 
Lady  Alazais  to  Beziers  as  if  you  were  one  of  her  wed- 
ding gifts.  You  have  the  whole  wide  world  before 
you.  You  cannot  be  a  real  troubadour  until  you 
have  travelled  far  afield.  The  wander-lust  comes 
again  to  me  as  I  think  of  the  winding  road,  the 
hedgerows,  the  cool  stream  singing  through  its  peb- 
bles, the  blue  sky  over  all.  I  can  feel  the  fresh  breeze 
in  my  face  and  the  warm  sun  on  my  back.  Think  of 

262 


TOO, GREAT  A  DEBTOR 

the  noble  castles  which  will  open  wide  their  doors,  of 
the  many  gracious  chatelaines  and  fair  demoiselles 
who  will  smile  on  you.  Alack!  I  wish  that  I  were 
young  again!" 

"Indeed,"  exclaimed  Raimbaut,  "your  heart  is 
always  young.  You  understand  me  as  none  other." 

"  I' faith,"  replied  Bernart,  "these  stiff  joints  will 
not  let  me  deceive  myself.  Did  I  not  love  you  with 
all  my  heart,  I  should  envy  you  as  the  rival  who  is 
bound  to  take  the  place  which  I  once  filled.  You 
will  be  the  best  troubadour  in  all  Languedoc.  If 
you  are  true  to  your  art,  everything  is  possible  to  you. 
You  have  already  found  many  a  good  song,  and  four 
years  of  careful  training  have  made  your  voice  al- 
most perfect.  Do  not  forget  to  have  plenty  of 
strings  for  your  lute:  the  weather  makes  sad  havoc 
with  them.  Above  all,  be  careful  of  your  throat.  It 
is  not  possible  to  buy  new  strings  for  this,  the  finest 
of  all  instruments.  And  now  I  know  you  must  away ; 
so  take  with  you  an  old  man's  blessing." 

This  hearty  God-speed,  where  he  had  expected 
reproaches,  was  almost  too  much  for  Raimbaut.  He 
had  nerved  himself  to  go  through  the  day's  ordeal, 
but  was  not  prepared  for  sympathy.  He  fell  on  his 
knees  as  Bernart  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  him, 
but  did  not  trust  himself  to  speak.  He  found  Jacques 
waiting  for  him  on  the  stairs. 

"  Everything  is  ready,  my  master.  How  soon  do 
we  start?" 

"  Within  the  hour." 

263 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  May  I  have  a  few  minutes  on  an  errand  of  my 
own?" 

"  You  may  have  the  whole  hour,  if  you  wish. 
It  should  take  all  of  sixty  minutes  to  say  good-bye 
to  so  pretty  a  little  laundress  as  Marie.  Are  you 
sure  you  had  better  come  with  me?  Why  not  stay 
here  at  Toulouse  with  her  and  the  other  friends  you 
have  made?" 

Jacques  flushed  hotly. 

"  Indeed,  my  master,  I  started  with  you  from  Vac- 
queiras,  and  will  follow  until  you  tell  me  plainly  that 
you  are  weary  of  me."  Then  looking  up  deprecat- 
ingly,  he  inquired,  "  You  have  no  doubt  that  it  is 
best  for  you  to  go?" 
''None!" 

Jacques  hastened  quickly  away,  and  as  Raimbaut 
climbed  the  stairs  he  met  Miraval,  Folquet  and  Guil- 
hem  hurrying  down  to  their  breakfast. 

"  Is  it  true,"  asked  Guilhem  eagerly,  "  that  you  are 
going  with  the  Countess  of  Cabaret?" 
"  I  am  going,"  was  the  reply. 
"  You  are  a  lucky  dog,"  exclaimed  Miraval. 
"That  he  is!"  cried  Folquet,  looking  at  him  en- 
viously. 

It  was  evident  that  they  considered  Raimbaut  the 
favorite  of  Fortune.  They  congratulated  him  heart- 
ily and  bade  him  an  affectionate  farewell.  When  he 
came  to  his  room  he  found  Bonifaz  walking  the  floor, 
evidently  much  perturbed.  He  stopped  at  Raim- 
baut's  entrance,  — 

264 


TOO   GREAT  A  DEBTOR 

"  Have  you  quite  decided  to  go  to  Cabaret?" 

"  I  have,"  answered  Raimbaut. 

"  Are  you  willing  to  tell  me  your  reason?"  inquired 
Bonifaz  earnestly. 

"  I  am  not  willing." 

Bonifaz,  controlling  himself  with  difficulty,  said 
very  gently  and  persuasively,  — 

"  It  is  four  years  since  we  made  our  first  vow  of 
comradeship.  I  claim  the  right  as  your  dearest 
friend  to  speak  plainly  to  you  to-day.  I  am  sure  you 
are  making  a  mistake  to  leave  Toulouse.  It  will  be 
wiser  for  you  to  wait  until  June  and  to  go  to  Beziers. 
Should  you  not  care  to  follow  Alazais,  you  must  come 
to  me.  I  shall  soon  return  to  Monferrat;  you  have 
promised  to  make  me  a  visit  there.  Reconsider  your 
determination. ' ' 

"  It  is  unnecessary." 

"  Then,"  continued  Bonifaz,  "  I  must  speak  more 
plainly.  If  you  leave  Toulouse  and  go  neither  to 
Beziers  nor  Monferrat,  I  think  you  doubly  wrong  in 
choosing  Cabaret.  From  the  beginning  I  have  seen 
your  growing  passion  for  the  Countess  Loba.  I  have 
always  treated  her  with  respect,  and  naught  would  I 
say  against  her  now.  You  have  told  me  many  times 
of  your  dream  of  a  Perfect  Love.  Do  you  think  that 
the  Countess  Loba  is  your  ideal?  Have  you  given 
her  your  promise?" 

"  I  have  sworn  to  go  with  her,"  replied  Raimbaut, 
speaking  with  no  hint  of  feeling  in  his  voice. 

Bonifaz's  patience,  already  sorely  tried,  gave  way. 
265 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

14  You  had  better  break  such  a  promise  than  to  keep 
it.  I  tell  you  there  are  many  women  wearing  shoul- 
der-knots in  the  streets  of  Toulouse  who  are  better 
than  she!" 

At  these  words  the  blood  rushed  into  Raimbaut's 
face,  and  he  struck  Bonifaz  fiercely  on  the  mouth 
with  his  clenched  fist.  He  staggered  to  the  floor. 
When  he  rose,  his  dagger  was  flashing  in  his  hand. 
Raimbaut  had  already  drawn  his  own  weapon.  The 
comrades  faced  each  other  with  murder  in  their 
hearts.  Bonifaz  was  first  to  come  to  himself.  He 
tossed  his  dagger  through  the  window,  sending  it 
clattering  to  the  courtyard  below.  Then  he  turned 
to  Raimbaut  with  a  smile  that  had  neither  love  nor 
merriment  in  it. 

"  I  will  balance  my  oath  of  comradeship  against  the 
indignity  of  this  blow,  and  call  them  both  cancelled. 
The  insult  and  the  friendship  are  alike  forgotten." 

With  these  words  he  left  Raimbaut,  whose  soul 
was  torn  by  a  storm  of  emotions.  Indeed,  he  did  not 
move  until  Jacques  came  running  in  to  tell  him  that 
every  one  was  mounted  and  the  cavalcade  waited 
only  for  him. 

Of  the  farewells  in  the  courtyard  Raimbaut  was 
almost  unconscious.  As  he  rode  out  of  the  gate  on 
his  tall  roan  destrier,  even  Alazais,  in  the  bitterness  of 
her  disappointment,  could  not  but  wish  him  well,  as 
she  watched  from  her  window.  In  all  the  palace 
there  was  no  one  who  did  not  mourn  the  departure 
of  the  young  sire  of  Vacqueiras,  —  he  who  had  tried 

266 


TOO  GREAT  A  DEBTOR 

so  hard  to  keep  his  vow  and  lead  a  life  of  loving- 
kindness  toward  all  the  world. 

For  many  minutes  Loba  kept  by  the  side  of  Raim- 
baut,  and,  like  a  wise  woman,  spoke  not  a  word.  She 
knew  he  had  gone  through  a  trying  ordeal  and  that 
his  soul  was  still  in  a  tumult.  At  the  first  dip  in  the 
road  she  bade  Jourdain  and  the  men-at-arms  ride 
ahead,  so  that  she  was  left  alone  with  Raimbaut.  It 
was  only  when  the  drawn  lines  about  his  mouth 
began  to  relax  a  little  that  she  put  her  hand  on  his  as 
it  rested  on  the  pommel  of  the  saddle.  Even  then 
she  did  not  speak,  but  looked  up  at  him  with  an 
expression  of  complete  sympathy.  Gradually  the 
color  returned  to  his  cheeks  and  the  light  into  his 
eyes. 

"  Are  you  sorry  that  you  came  with  me?  "  she 
asked.  "  Do  you  wish  you  were  back  in  Toulouse?  " 

For  reply  Raimbaut  suddenly  lifted  her  out  of  the 
saddle,  and  crushed  her  in  his  arms. 

"Beware!"  she  said  laughingly.  "If  Jourdain 
should  see  you,  your  life  would  not  be  worth  a  denier's 
purchase.  You  know  how  fierce  he  is  and  how 
jealous  of  me." 

At  this  Raimbaut  kissed  her,  unresisting,  then  put 
her  back  on  her  palfrey,  and  when  they  joined  their 
companions  they  were  cantering  sedately,  a  spear- 
length  apart. 

All  the  morning  they  rode  along  a  level  road  with 
low  hills  oil  either  side.  Far  in  the  south  rose  the 
ragged  line  of  the  Pyrenees,  their  snowy  summits 

267 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

distinguishable  from  the  white  clouds  only  by  their 
changelessness. 

They  stopped  with  the  Baron  of  Saint  Papoul  for 
dinner,  and  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  they 
entered  the  deep  gorge  that  led  to  Cabaret.  On  both 
sides  the  rocks  rose  high  above  them,  seamed,  fur- 
rowed, and  stained  with  strange  and  fantastic  colors. 
Here  and  there  could  be  seen  the  little  tunnels  from 
which  the  miners  emerged  like  rats  from  their  holes, 
for  the  mountains  were  full  of  iron,  and  brought  large 
revenues  to  their  owners. 

The  mists  were  already  gathering  and  the  shadows 
deepening.  The  road  followed  a  winding  river  which 
flung  its  spray  up  to  their  very  stirrups.  Raimbaut 
knew  they  were  nearing  their  journey's  end.  by  the 
way  the  horses  tossed  their  heads  and  quickened  their 
speed.  But  he  could  see  nothing  save  the  jutting 
shoulders  of  the  precipice,  until  the  towers  of  Cabaret 
suddenly  loomed  before  him.  It  seemed  a  veritable 
dream-castle  silhouetted  against  the  sky,  for  it  was 
perched  so  high  that  the  sunbeams  still  shone  brightly 
on  its  walls.  Built  along  the  narrow  crest  of  a 
detached  rock,  it  followed  the  irregular  outlines  like 
a  serpent  basking  in  the  sun,  uprearing  one  tall  tower 
which  seemed  to  watch  the  approach  through  the 
narrow  gorge. 

They  reached  the  ragged  village  of  Lastours,  gal- 
loped through  the  narrow  streets,  and  swinging 
sharply  to  the  left,  began  to  climb  a  steep  road,  barely 
wide  enough  for  two  to  ride  abreast.  Part  of  the 

268 


TOO  GREAT  A  DEBTOR 

track  was  cut  in  the  cliff  and  part  built  up  laboriously 
with  fragments  of  the  discolored  rock.  As  they 
ascended,  they  gradually  emerged  from  the  shadows 
and  halted  before  a  narrow  portal.  At  the  command 
of  Jourdain  the  gate  swung  sullenly  open.  The  little 
cavalcade  clattered  through  a  vaulted  passage  and 
entered  the  courtyard,  still  bright  with  the  red  light 
from  the  western  sky. 

"  That,"  whispered  Loba,  pointing  to  the  tall  tower 
which  faced  the  west,  "  is  the  cage  where  I  shall  keep 
you  prisoner  for  ever." 

Raimbaut  answered,  — 

"  You  may  leave  the  door  open,  for  I  shall  never 
try  to  escape." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   APPLES   OF   LOVE 

FOR  six  centuries  the  Counts  of  Cabaret  had  ruled 
the  country  from  their  strong  castle  on  the  crags 
above  Lastours.  As  if  possessed  of  the  philosopher's 
stone,  they  had  turned  the  iron  from  the  mountains 
into  red  gold.  Seldom  wandering  far  from  home, 
they  were  content  to  live  in  peace,  unless  their  lands 
were  threatened. 

The  succession  had  come  at  last  to  twin  brothers, 
Peireand  Jourdain :  the  former  strong  and  determined, 
the  latter  weak  and  vacillating.  Peire  married 
Brunessen,  the  daughter  of  a  neighboring  baron,  a 
lady  of  severe  and  homely  virtues;  and  scarce  six 
months  later,  Jourdain  chose  the  beautiful  Loba. 
Brunessen,  presuming  on  her  age  and  experience, 
attempted  to  inculcate  thrifty  habits  and  sedate  man- 
ners in  her  younger  and  more  attractive  sister;  but 
there  was  rebellion  at  the  first  word  of  authority. 
No  bond  of  sympathy  existed  between  them,  and 
matters  went  from  bad  to  worse,  until,  at  Loba's 
insistence,  the  command  of  the  castle  was  divided, 
separate  establishments  being  set  up  at  the  extreme 
ends  of  the  fortress. 

Here  Loba  was  fortunate,  for,  when  lots  were 
drawn,  to  Jourdain  went  the  buildings  facing  south 
and  west,  while  Peire  was  forced  to  take  the  tower 

270 


THE  APPLES   OF  LOVE 

looking  north.  The  two  dwelling-places  symbolized 
the  character  of  their  occupants,  that  of  Loba  being 
bright  and  sunny,  with  a  view  of  the  green  meadows 
near  Carcassonne,  while  Brunessen's  quarters  looked 
down  into  a  black  valley  bounded  by  unscalable  cliffs. 
The  breach  between  the  sisters  became  complete;  but 
the  brothers  were  not  unfriendly,  in  spite  of  the 
quarrel  between  their  wives. 

The  virtuous  Brunessen  was  shocked  when  her 
sister  chose  the  whole  of  the  great  South  Tower  for 
her  apartments,  and  relegated  Jourdain  to  a  remote 
turret.  She  persuaded  Peire  to  remonstrate  with 
his  brother  on  the  ground  of  military  policy,  pro- 
testing against  the  giving  of  a  strong  keep  into 
a  woman's  hand.  But  Loba  did  not  hesitate  to 
reply  that  she  was  precious  enough  to  be  housed 
in  the  castle's  most  impregnable  tower,  and  that 
Jourdain's  obvious  duty  was  to  guard  the  entrance 
gate. 

Dame  Brunessen,  already  offended,  was  doubly 
scandalized  at  the  arrival  of  Raimbaut.  He  was 
given  a  room  on  the  lower  floor  of  Loba's  tower,  from 
which  the  captain  of  the  guard  was  ousted,  the  latter 
being  forced  to  occupy  a  small  cupboard  opening 
from  the  room  used  by  the  men-at-arms.  Strange 
to  say,  Brunessen  took  no  aversion  to  Raimbaut, 
who,  she  declared,  had  only  been  "  led  astray  by  that 
wicked,  designing  woman." 

Jourdain  denied  nothing  to  his  beautiful  countess; 
and  as  Loba's  tastes  were  luxurious  to  the  last  degree, 

271 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

the  four  corners  of  the  earth  had  been  searched  to 
embellish  her  apartments.  The  second  floor,  which 
became  her  audience-room,  was  decorated  in  the 
oriental  style  with  heavy  rugs  and  rich  tapestries 
from  the  East.  The  air  was  fragrant  with  the  odor 
of  sandal-wood  and  the  perfume  of  spices.  The  upper 
floor  was  her  chamber,  and  the  open  parapet  above 
she  converted  into  a  garden,  with  plants  blooming 
in  the  shelter  of  its  walls,  and  an  awning  protecting 
part  of  it  from  the  sun. 

The  first  month  that  Raimbaut  spent  at  Cabaret 
passed  like  a  dream,  rose-colored,  balmy,  exquisite. 
He  thought  not  of  the  past,  and  planned  not  for  the 
future.  The  present  was  enough.  Visitors  were  few ; 
there  was  scarce  a  book  in  the  castle ;  little  attention 
was  paid  to  song  or  singers.  Yet  for  many  weeks 
he  discovered  no  lack,  for  Cabaret  with  Loba  was 
Paradise. 

The  summer  was  well  nigh  over,  when  a  hot  after- 
noon found  them  together  on  the  tower.  His  costume 
was  a  cool  gray,  of  rich  material,  for  Loba  had  treated 
him  with  limitless  generosity  and  loaded  him  with 
gifts.  Accustomed  to  have  each  whim  gratified,  it 
seemed  a  matter  of  course  for  her  to  satisfy  Raim- 
baut's  every  wish. 

She  was  reclining  in  the  shade  of  the  awning,  on  a 
low  couch  covered  with  soft  brown  linen,  bordered 
with  a  pattern  of  rich  arabesque.  She  wore  no  man- 
tle, and  her  short-sleeved  tunic  was  of  her  favorite 
yellow  samite  and  open  at  the  throat.  She  was 

272 


THE  APPLES   OF  LOVE 

swinging  her  foot  impatiently  and  eyeing  Raimbaut 
a  little  resentfully,  as  he  stood  in  the  warm  sunlight, 
bending  over  his  lute. 

"  Well,  Messire,"  said  she  at  last,  "  how  long  do 
you  mean  to  pick  at  those  dreadful  strings?  Will  you 
never  tire?  I  sometimes  wonder  if  that  old  lute  be 
not  first  in  your  affections?  " 

"I  was  but  making  the  music  for  a  little  song  I 
have  written  in  your  praise." 

"A  song  to  my  praise,  say  you!  I  would  rather 
have  you  kiss  me  than  sing  to  me.  I  cannot  under- 
stand how  a  woman  can  be  pleased  to  have  her  lover 
for  ever  saying  silly  things,  when  he  might  have  his 
arm  about  her!" 

At  this  he  laid  his  lute  down,  but  Loba  lifted  a  for- 
bidding finger. 

"Not  now,  Messire  Raimbaut.  I  like  not  cold 
kisses,  nor  caresses  furnished  on  demand." 

"As  you  will,"  he  replied,  and  took  up  his  task 
again.  But  he  found  that  the  melody  had  left  him  for 
ever.  He  laid  the  instrument  aside  and  stood  look- 
ing out  into  the  distance.  All  around  him  rose  the 
steep  cliffs,  dark  and  sinster  against  the  sky.  They 
were  penetrated  by  narrow  gorges,  each  with  its  foam- 
ing brook.  No  tree  found  root,  and  only  a  few 
starved  shrubs  were  scattered  along  the  rocks.  For 
a  long  time  his  eyes  followed  the  ragged  crests  which 
barred  his  sight.  Only  in  the  south  could  he  look 
out  to  the  open  country.  Here  stretched  the  bright 
green  meadows  and  here  his  glance  rested.  Mean- 

273 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

while  Loba  watched  him  keenly,  and  suddenly  com- 
manded, — 

"Tell  me  your  thoughts  quickly,  before  you  have 
time  to  polish  them.  Tell  me  at  once,  what  was  in 
your  mind?" 

"I  will  conceal  nothing,"  replied  Raimbaut,  turn- 
ing to  her  with  a  smile.  "I  was  wondering  if  the 
brooks  were  conscious  of  the  struggle  as  they  forced 
their  way  through  the  gorges,  and  questioning  if  they 
found  contentment  when  they  reached  the  level  plain. 
It  was  but  a  common  thought." 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  did  not  wish  you  were 
the  mountain-brook,  thus  to  escape  to  the  outside 
world?" 

"I  had  no  such  fancy,"  replied  Raimbaut,  as  he 
threw  himself  on  the  rug  by  her  couch  and  pressed 
her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"!'  faith,"  declared  Loba  discontentedly,  "if  I 
were  a  man,  I  would  never  kiss  a  lady's  hand.  If  she 
gave  me  not  her  lips,  I  would  none  of  her." 

At  these  words,  so  full  of  provocation,  Raimbaut 
lifted  himself  on  his  knees,  but  she  repulsed  him. 

"Again  I  tell  you,  I  care  not  for  the  kiss  that  I 
must  ask  for!  Come,  let  us  look  at  the  apples. 
They  are  almost  ripe  for  picking." 

She  gave  Raimbaut  her  hand  and  lifted  him  to  his 
feet,  laughing  merrily,  for  her  impatience  had  quite 
disappeared;  and  together  they  went  to  a  little  tree 
growing  in  the  rich  earth  close  to  the  parapet.  It 
reached  no  higher  than  Loba's  shoulders,  its  branches 

274 


THE  APPLES   OF  LOVE 

covered  with  green  leaves,  and  with  two  round  apples 
presenting  their  red  cheeks  to  the  sun.  The  fruit  of 
the  Tree  of  Knowledge  was  not  fairer  when  it 
tempted  Eve  in  the  Garden  of  Eden. 

"I  do  not  think  they  will  grow  any  larger,"  de- 
clared Loba  critically. 

"Perhaps  not;  but  the  blushes  spread  and  deepen. 
Have  you  ever  heard  of  the  Apples  of  Persepolis?" 

"No;  tell  me  of  them." 

"The  story  says  that  there  grew  inside  the  walls 
of  the  ancient  city  a  tree,  every  apple  of  which  was 
on  one  side  bitter,  on  one  side  sweet.  It  was  a  type 
of  life  itself.  What  think  you  of  it?" 

"That  nothing  were  easier  than  to  eat  the  good 
half  and  throw  the  bad  away.  Is  not  that  the  secret 
of  happiness?" 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  be  contented,"  re- 
plied Raimbaut  doubtfully.  "  I  would  know  the 
whole  of  life,  tasting  the  bitter  as  well  as  the  sweet." 

Loba  shook  her  head. 

"I  like  not  the  idea  of  your  Apples  of  Persepolis. 
We  have  always  called  these  the  Apples  of  Love,  and 
we  will  eat  them  together  when  they  are  fully  ripe,  as 
a  proof  that  our  hearts  will  never  change." 

She  said  this,  her  eyes  aglow,  her  lips  parted  with 
passion,  and  Raimbaut  took  her  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her  thirstily,  again  and  again.  They  had 
quite  forgotten  the  world  around  them,  when  they 
were  startled  by  the  faint  tinkle  of  a  bell,  hidden 
among  the  vines  which  covered  the  parapet.  At  the 

275 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

sound  Loba  drew  herself  away  with  an  exclamation 
of  disappointment  and  vanished  through  the  door- 
way. Raimbaut  seized  his  lute,  and  seating  himself 
in  an  embrasure  of  the  wall,  began  to  sing  with  a  soft 
voice  a  song  of  Arnaut's  which  he  loved.  There 
were  footsteps  on  the  stairs,  which  grew  louder  until 
Jourdain  appeared,  ushering  a  tall  cavalier  who  ad- 
vanced with  a  smile  on  his  dark  face.  It  was  none 
other  than  Berguedan,  and  at  sight  of  him  Raim- 
baut's  hand  wandered  involuntarily  to  his  dagger. 

The  Spaniard  showed  plainly  the  effect  of  the 
fierce  struggle  in  the  lists,  which  had  so  nearly  ended 
his  life.  He  was  pale  and  thin,  but  in  his  eyes  glowed 
the  same  evil  fire,  and  he  spoke  as  carelessly  as  if  he 
had  no  memory  of  defeat. 

"  My  dear  Raimbaut,  I  am  charmed  to  see  you 
again,  looking  so  debonair.  I  little  thought,  when  I 
accepted  the  invitation  of  the  good  Countess  Bru- 
nessen,  to  find  you  here.  It  is  easy  to  see  you  are  the 
special  favorite  of  Fortune.  You  convince  me  that 
Heaven  always  leads  the  footsteps  of  the  virtuous 
into  green  pastures." 

"  Fortune  has  blessed  me  beyond  my  deserts," 
replied  Raimbaut  curtly.  "  Yet  I  doubt  that  the 
saints  have  me  in  their  special  care." 

11  I  see  you  no  longer  wear  a  severed  mantle,"  con- 
tinued Berguedan;  "  but  who  would  not  change 
Saint  Martin  for  Saint  Loba?  Here  she  comes  to 
bless  us  with  her  presence." 

"  Saint,  say  you?  "  exclaimed  Loba,  as  she  ap- 
276 


THE  APPLES   OF  LOVE 

peared  at  the  door.  "  I  have  never  been  called  a 
saint  before,  though  many  a  pretty  name  has  been 
given  me  from  time  to  time.  I  wonder  what  day  in 
the  calendar  can  be  assigned  to  me?  " 

"  That  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Berguedan.  "  Perhaps 
the  first  of  May;  certainly  a  day  in  spring-time. 
Whatever  the  date,  I  know  that  I  shall  always  wor- 
ship at  your  shrine." 

All  the  time  the  Catalonian  talked,  he  had  been 
looking  about  with  a  roving  eye. 

"  What  a  charming  place  you  have  made  of  this 
old  tower!"  he  exclaimed,  touching  the  blossoms 
with  a  caressing  hand.  When  his  bright  eye  dis- 
covered the  bell  hidden  in  the  vine,  he  laughed  and 
stopped  before  the  little  tree,  admiring  the  beautiful 
fruit  it  bore. 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  he,  turning  to  Loba,  "  that  our 
fair  Countess  has  been  growing  one  of  these  apples 
in  anticipation  of  my  arrival,  and  will  eat  it  with  me?" 

Loba  answered,  — 

"  There  can  be  no  misunderstanding  about  these 
apples:  they  are  already  promised  to  Messire 
Raimbaut." 

As  she  spoke  there  was  a  challenge  in  her  voice  and 
in  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  well!  "  said  Berguedan  to  Jourdain,  "  I  see 
I  am  forestalled  in  my  devotions.  Yet  I  cannot 
change  to  any  other  saint." 

Jourdain  laughed  admiringly.  It  was  evident 
that  the  Spaniard  stood  high  in  the  Count's  good 

277 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

graces,  for  they  took  their  departure  together,  arm 
in  arm. 

Then  Loba  turned  to  Raimbaut  with  a  face  in 
which  sorrow  and  distrust  were  plainly  visible. 

"  Why  comes  this  man  here?  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  He  is  like  the  serpent  in  Eden.  He  has  come  to 
drive  the  happiness  out  of  the  little  garden  we  have 
made.  Why  did  you  not  kill  him  when  he  was  in 
your  power?  I  am  sure  his  presence  is  a  menace  to 
our  love." 

"  I  cannot  see  how  he  can  harm  us,"  replied  Raim- 
baut, wondering  at  her  fear.  "  While  I  have  my 
good  sword,  we  cannot  be  in  danger." 

"  Never  again,"  declared  Loba,  "  will  he  meet  you 
in  the  open  field.  This  is  a  tangled  skein  which  no 
sharp  blade  can  sever.  I  will  to  my  husband;  and 
give  him  a  hint  which  will  hasten  Berguedan's 
departure." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
UNDER  DEATH'S  SPREAD  HAND 

IN  Provence  the  summer  does  not  merge  into 
autumn,  but  dies  a  sudden  death.  Without  warning, 
the  sun  ceases  to  shine  and  the  sky  to  smile.  The 
very  night  of  Berguedan's  arrival  the  clouds  began  to 
gather;  the  next  day  they  were  lowering.  When  Loba 
awoke  on  the  following  morning,  the  tops  of  the  high 
hills  were  hidden  by  mists,  and  the  prophecy  of  rain 
was  in  the  air.  Nevertheless,  immediately  after 
breakfast  she  mounted  her  horse  and  rode  out  of  the 
courtyard,  attended  by  Raimbaut.  They  zigzagged 
down  the  steep  hill  and  trotted  through  the  little 
village  of  Lastours.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  until 
they  reached  a  narrow  path  leading  through  a  deep 
gorge,  which  was  the  only  egress  to  the  north.  On 
both  sides  the  trees  grew  thickly,  their  roots  fed  by 
the  waters  of  a  sparkling  brook. 

"  God  knows  how  I  prayed  to  see  you  last  night!  " 
said  the  Countess  almost  fiercely  to  her  companion. 
"  Why  did  you  not  come?  " 

"  I  came  not,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  because  I  was 
in  doubt  concerning  my  welcome.  Last  evening  you 
were  so  gracious  to  Messire  Berguedan  that  I  thought 
you  preferred  to  talk  with  your  old  friend  alone." 

"  Old  friend  or  new  friend,  you  know  right  well  he 
cannot  take  your  place.  I  lay  sleepless  till  the  dawn 

279 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

broke.  I  beg  you  choose  some  other  time  for  cause- 
less jealousy.  Unless  we  rid  ourselves  of  this  smiling 
hell-hound  we  are  both  of  us  undone.  He  lingered 
on  the  tower  till  midnight,  his  black  eyes  peering 
everywhere,  his  nostrils  like  a  dog's  scenting  prey. 
I  spoke  him  fairly  for  both  our  sakes;  but  when  he 
left  me  I  told  Jourdain  plainly  I  would  have  no  more 
of  Berguedan.  '  Make  what  excuse  you  will,'  I  said, 
'  but  send  him  away! '  Can  you  believe  that  this 
same  easy  mate  of  mine,  who  for  eight  years  has 
obeyed  my  least  word,  this  effigy  of  a  man,  at  first 
with  arguments  of  courtesy,  and  last  by  an  unvary- 
ing, '  No,  I  will  not,'  refused  to  drive  this  friend  of 
the  devil  from  Cabaret?  What  think  you  has  the 
Spaniard  done  with  Jourdain  to  change  him  to  such 
a  stubborn  mood?  I  tell  you  I  like  it  not,  —  I  like 
it  not." 

Raimbaut  listened  with  wonder,  and  saw  with 
amazement  the  face  of  his  mistress,  so  gay  and  care- 
less, grow  gray  and  haggard  as  she  spoke.  He  had 
never  seen  her  show  the  least  sign  of  fear,  and  her 
courage  had  seemed  without  a  flaw. 

"  What  can  he  do  to  us,"  he  asked,  "  more  than  for 
one  night  to  make  me  jealous  and  you  sorrowful?  I 
swear  he  shall  not  bring  this  trouble  on  us  again.  He 
is  but  a  man,  and  it  will  go  hard  if  I  cannot  match 
wit  and  strength  with  him." 

"Strength,  mayhap;  but  wit,  no!"  exclaimed 
Loba.  "  Little  do  you  understand  this  slimy  Cata- 
lonian.  He  will  not  cross  swords  with  you,  but  like 

280 


UNDER  DEATH'S   SPREAD  HAND 

a  serpent  will  sting  the  heel  of  his  enemy.  He  has 
one  drug  to  kill  on  the  instant,  another  in  a  week,  and 
a  third  in  a  month.  Have  you  forgotten  the  death 
of  the  Count  of  Courthezon?  It  was  under  my  very 
eyes,  and  the  horror  of  it  has  never  left  me.  There 
is  no  doubt  but  day  after  day  this  devil  incarnate 
gave  his  trusting  friend  deadly  poison,  instead  of 
medicines  to  cure  his  malady.  Heard  you  not  how 
he  murdered  the  Spanish  nobleman  whose  wife  he 
coveted?  It  was  with  a  ring,  through  which,  when 
hands  are  clasped,  a  point  protrudes,  giving  a  death 
wound  under  cover  of  the  grasp  of  friendliness. 
Something  tells  me  he  has  come  here  to  kill  you.  Oh, 
Raimbaut!  you  must  leave  me.  Ride  not  back  to- 
day. Jacques  will  follow  you  to  Carcassonne.  I 
have  here  in  my  purse  both  gold  and  jewels.  My 
heart  is  like  to  break  at  parting,  but  you  must 
go!" 

She  broke  into  a  passion  of  tears,  sobbing  pitifully, 
and  for  a  long  time  would  not  be  comforted,  though 
he  held  her  in  his  arms.  Never  before  had  he  seen 
her  weep,  and  her  fear  and  loathing  were  so  great 
that  he  could  not  restrain  the  chill  that  crept  over 
him.  What  possible  reason  could  Berguedan  have 
to  injure  him?  His  memory  went  back  to  the  day 
when  he  first  saw  the  Spaniard  at  Courthezon.  He 
remembered  the  look  of  inquiry  that  passed  between 
him  and  the  Countess  des  Baux;  he  recalled  his 
curiosity  over  the  sword,  and  the  Book  of  Hours. 
What  part  had  this  man  in  his  life?  Was  there  any 

281 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

doubt  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  the  traitorous 
attack  upon  Peirol? 

"  No!  "  said  Raimbaut,  "  I  cannot  fly  from  Cab- 
aret in  such  a  cowardly  way.  I  have  a  mind  to  draw 
sword  and  kill  him  in  the  open  courtyard,  without 
warning.  He  is  a  deadly  snake.  I  like  not  the  way 
he  looks  at  you ;  I  have  no  mind  to  leave  my  Lady  of 
Delight  to  fall  a  prey  to  Spanish  guile." 

At  this  Loba  raised  her  head,  — 

"  I  swear  to  you  that,  while  I  have  a  dagger  for 
him  and  for  myself,  Berguedan  shall  never  possess 
me.  After  all,  I  think  you  are  right  to  stay  in  Cab- 
aret. Why  should  we  fear  him?  Indeed,  why 
should  we  think  of  him  at  all?  Let  us  talk  about  the 
weather." 

Laughing  half-heartedly,  she  held  out  her  hand, 
on  which  a  raindrop  glistened.  She  looked  up  at 
the  heavy  clouds  and  cried,  — 

"  We  shall  be  drenched  to  our  skins.  I  am  like  a 
cat :  next  to  death  itself  I  hate  a  wetting.  I  will  race 
you  back  to  Cabaret." 

She  swung  her  horse  around  on  his  haunches,  and 
flew  at  a  mad  gallop  down  the  narrow  path  through 
the  woods.  Raimbaut  started  quickly  after,  but 
could  scarce  gain  at  all  on  her,  as  the  short  turns  de- 
layed the  tall  destrier  on  which  he  rode.  They  were 
nearing  the  village  when  Loba  gave  a  sudden  cry  of 
warning,  and  Raimbaut  crouched  in  the  saddle  as 
an  arrow  flew  a  hand-breadth  above  his  head  and 
buried  itself  in  a  tree  by  the  roadside.  He  did  not 

282 


UNDER  DEATH'S   SPREAD  HAND 

draw  rein  until  he  reached  her  side  at  the  entrance 
of  the  village,  and  to  his  surprise  found  her  quite 
unafraid,  and  elated  at  the  adventure. 

"  Pish!  "  said  she,  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  arrows! 
They  never  go  where  they  are  meant.  I  saw  a  man 
rise  from  the  thicket  not  twenty  yards  from  the  road- 
side, with  his  shaft  drawn  to  the  head.  When  I  cried 
out,  it  startled  him  and  spoiled  his  aim.  Do  you 
think  it  was  Berguedan?  " 

"  Frankly,  I  do  not,"  replied  Raimbaut,  laughing. 
"It  was  probably  some  old  lover  of  yours  who  wished 
to  put  me  out  of  the  way." 

The  first  person  they  saw  on  their  arrival  at  the 
castle  was  the  Spaniard,  talking  calmly  with  Jourdain 
as  they  examined  the  work  of  some  masons  on  the 
wall.  He  smiled  down  on  them,  blew  a  kiss  from  his 
fingers,  and  complimented  Loba  on  the  color  the  rain 
had  brought  to  her  cheeks. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  after  the  arrow-shot  that 
Raimbaut  was  walking  in  the  courtyard.  To  and 
fro  he  paced  in  the  gathering  gloom,  for  the  days  were 
perceptibly  shortening.  Although  he  had  recovered 
from  his  uneasiness  concerning  Berguedan,  there  was 
a  growing  feeling  of  discontent  in  his  heart,  which  he 
refused  to  recognize.  As  the  high  rocks  shut  in 
Cabaret  on  all  sides,  so  was  his  imagination  confined : 
he  found  no  new  songs,  nor  fresh  thoughts. 

Back  and  forth  he  walked,  his  eyes  on  the  ground, 
his  mind  far  away,  when  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
had  promised  to  look  at  a  brace  of  hounds  which 

283 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Jacques  was  training,  and  turning  quickly  on  his  heel, 
he  started  for  the  tower.  He  had  taken  but  a  single 
step  when  there  was  a  crash  on  the  pavement  behind 
him,  and  he  was  thrown  on  his  face.  He  rose  quite 
unhurt,  though  covered  with  fragments  of  stone,  and 
discovered  a  huge  rock  lying  shattered  on  the  very 
spot  where  he  would  have  stepped,  had  he  not  turned 
suddenly  at  the  thought  of  the  hounds. 

It  was  plainly  a  missile  from  the  parapet  which 
towered  above  him.  Was  it  pushed  over  by  a  de- 
signing hand?  He  ran  hurriedly  up  the  staircase, 
but  found  nothing  except  the  tools  of  the  workmen 
where  they  had  been  left. 

This  second  adventure,  coming  so  soon  after  the 
first,  left  Raimbaut  little  doubt  that  his  life  was 
every  moment  in  danger.  He  took  the  most  extreme 
precautions  against  attack,  keeping  Jacques  with  him 
as  much  as  possible;  and  when  not  followed  by  his 
faithful  friend,  walked  with  alert  eyes,  his  hand  on 
his  dagger.  He  slept  at  night  with  Jacques  lying 
across  the  threshold,  and,  as  a  further  safeguard, 
leaned  a  lance  against  his  door,  so  that  the  least 
movement  would  dislodge  it.  Early  one  morning, 
just  before  dawn,  he  was  awakened  by  the  clatter  of 
the  lance  on  the  floor.  Jacques  was  ruefully  rubbing 
his  head,  upon  which  it  had  fallen.  Raimbaut  sprang 
out  of  bed,  grasped  his  sword,  and  rushed  out  into 
the  corridor.  Though  he  searched  everywhere,  he 
could  find  no  one.  The  intruder  had  doubtless  taken 
to  flight  at  the  sound  of  the  falling  lance. 

284 


UNDER   DEATH'S   SPREAD   HAND 

It  was  not  a  danger  like  this,  however,  that  Raim- 
baut  feared  most,  but  he  was  haunted  day  and  night 
by  a  dread  that  his  life  might  be  taken  without  warn- 
ing, and  without  opportunity  of  resistance.  He 
looked  upon  every  dish  and  every  flagon  with  sus- 
picion, and  hesitated  to  drink  a  cup  of  fair  water 
from  the  spring.  The  hand  of  Death  seemed  to  be 
spread  over  him.  It  took  all  his  strength  of  will  to 
stand  the  strain  of  the  perpetual  foreboding. 

Nearly  every  day  he  rode  out  with  Loba,  falcon  on 
wrist;  for  though  they  had  little  heart  in  the  sport,  it 
took  them  away  from  Cabaret,  and  minimized  the 
danger.  Raimbaut  did  not  realize  how  great  had 
been  the  shadow  over  him  until,  returning  one  night, 
he  learned  that  Berguedan  had  been  summoned  to 
Barcelona  by  the  command  of  his  King.  Jourdain, 
who  was  greatly  dejected  thereby,  said  that  Bergue- 
dan's  return  was  uncertain.  He  had  gone  away 
wishing  them  "  health  and  happiness."  For  Loba 
he  had  left,  as  a  remembrance  of  his  pleasant  stay  at 
Cabaret,  a  parrot  with  a  most  wonderful  gift  of 
speech. 

'  Truly,"  declared  she,  "  I  shall  never  cease  to  love 
and  cherish  this  same  bird,  if  he  speak  not  with  his 
master's  oily  voice.  He  will  always  remind  me  of 
his  owner's  departure,  for  which,  although  I  am  not 
pious,  I  do  devoutly  thank  God." 

The  autumn  rains  had  now  set  in,  but  the  next 
morning  dawned  clear  and  bright  as  if  in  sympathy 
with  Loba  and  Raimbaut.  They  found  themselves 

285 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

laughing  together  on  the  tower,  as  they  had  not  done 
for  a  full  month.  Suddenly  Loba  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  Let  us  eat  one  of  the  Apples  of  Love  to-day!  It 
shall  be  a  feast  of  happiness." 

She  ran  down  to  her  room  and  came  hurrying  back 
with  a  large  silver  plate  and  a  knife. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  she,  very  seriously,  "  there  is 
some  proper  rite  or  ceremony  with  which  this  apple 
should  be  plucked  and  eaten.  I  do  not  know  what 
it  is,  however;  so  I  suggest  that  you  pick  the  apple, 
that  I  cut  it  fairly  in  the  middle,  and  that  we  each 
eat  half.  After  that,  you  shall  make  me  all  the 
solemn  vows  and  sweet  promises  that  you  can  find 
in  your  heart,  or  take  upon  your  lips.  When  you  have 
done,  I  will  try  my  best  to  equal  you." 

Raimbaut  plucked  one  of  the  apples,  leaving  the 
other  looking  strangely  forlorn  on  the  little  tree.  He 
held  it  above  his  head  where  the  sun  could  shine 
brightly  on  it,  and  slowly  twisted  it  by  the  stem  so 
that  Loba  might  see  its  beautiful  coloring. 

"  Do  you  notice,"  said  he,  "  that  it  is  nearly  all 
red,  which  means  that  our  life  and  our  love  will  be 
happy?  There  is  only  one  unsunned  spot  that  still 
shows  green,  to  betoken  the  little  measure  of  bitter- 
ness which  must  come  to  every  one." 

Loba  had  never  seemed  so  beautiful  as  on  the 
instant  when  she  lifted  her  hand  for  the  Apple  of 
Love.  Raimbaut  held  it  as  high  as  he  could, 
but  she  reached  it  easily  with  her  long  white 
arm.  She  placed  the  fruit  gently  on  the  plate,  and 

286 


SHE   REACHED   IT   EASILY 


UNDER  DEATH'S   SPREAD  HAND 

after  eyeing  it  a  moment,  cut  it  with  the  shining 
knife. 

"  Perfect!  "  declared  Raimbaut.  "  I  am  sure  I 
cannot  tell  which  is  the  larger  piece.  Our  shares  will 
be  exactly  alike." 

He  was  about  to  bite  the  apple,  when  Loba,  who 
was  examining  hers  doubtfully,  seized  his  hand. 

"  Ah,  wait  a  moment,"  she  cried.  "  Do  you  notice 
the  discoloration  about  the  core?  " 

"  It  is  nothing,"  replied  Raimbaut,  catching  her 
arm,  and  trying  to  take  the  piece  of  apple  from  her. 
"  We  have  let  it  hang  too  long  upon  the  tree." 

"  Do  you  mean  by  that,  Messire  Raimbaut,  that 
you  think  our  love  is  over-ripe?  "  she  demanded  with 
a  smile,  but  still  examining  what  she  held  with  a 
critical  eye.  "  I  think,  before  we  eat  this,  we  had 
better  try  our  friend  the  parrot  with  a  few  of  the 
seeds;  meanwhile,  touch  not  your  lips  to  it." 

She  carefully  cut  out  the  middle  of  both  pieces, 
and  placed  the  fragments  with  the  seeds  in  the  little 
dish  which  hung  on  the  parrot's  cage.  The  latter, 
who  had  been  moping  all  the  morning,  and  who,  as 
he  spoke  but  in  Spanish,  did  not  make  himself  intel- 
ligible, quickly  ate  the  core  of  the  apple.  Loba 
and  Raimbaut  stood  for  several  minutes  watching  by 
the  cage.  At  last  Raimbaut  became  impatient  and 
said,  — 

"  You  see  the  bird  is  very  happy  with  his  share. 
I  intend  to  have  mine." 

He  had  hardly  spoken,  however,  when  the  parrot 
287 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

began  to  move  uneasily  on  his  perch.  He  fluffed  his 
feathers  until  he  looked  twice  his  natural  size.  For 
a  while  he  remained  perfectly  quiet,  and  then  sud- 
denly flapped  his  wings  wildly  and  uttered  the  most 
astonishing  medley  of  shrieks  and  unintelligible 
words.  For  a  few  seconds  the  bird  dashed  himself 
about  the  cage,  until  fluttering  feebly,  he  fell  on  his 
side  and  was  still. 

The  two  realized  that  they  had  escaped  death 
by  almost  a  miracle.  Berguedan  had  forced  into  the 
apple  one  of  the  deadly  poisons  with  which  he  was 
so  skilful.  He  had  been  willing,  in  his  desire  to  make 
way  with  Raimbaut,  to  sacrifice  Loba  as  well. 

Even  Jourdain  was  convinced  of  Berguedan's  guilt, 
and  it  was  evident  that  they  had  nothing  more  to 
fear  from  the  Spaniard  at  Cabaret.  So  Raimbaut 
and  Loba  settled  down  to  their  old  life  very  much  as 
before. 

The  rains  now  continued  without  intermission, 
and  as  day  after  day  passed,  Raimbaut  became 
strangely  uneasy.  He  searched  the  whole  fortress, 
but  could  not  discover  a  single  manuscript  to  read. 
His  efforts  to  compose  new  songs  were  unsuccess- 
ful, his  mood  being  without  the  least  inspiration. 
Occasionally  the  question  would  come  to  him  whether 
he  had  attained  the  object  of  his  life.  But  he  made 
no  effort  to  reply  to  his  conscience.  He  did  not  dare 
remember  his  vow,  for  he  had  not  worn  a  severed 
mantle  since  he  came  to  Cabaret,  nor  looked  into  the 
Book  of  Hours  since  the  night  he  gave  his  pledge 

288 


UNDER  DEATH'S   SPREAD  HAND 

to  Loba  at  Toulouse.  She,  as  Raimbaut  became 
moodier,  grew  each  day  more  gentle.  She  frequently 
asked  him  to  sing  to  her,  choosing  a  chanson  begin- 
ning, — 

"Oh,  love  is  the  wine  of  life; 
Let  us  drink  of  it,  you  and  I." 

Only  with  reluctance  she  allowed  him  to  leave  her 
side.  He  discovered  that  she  was  studying  him. 
Again  and  again  he  asked  her  to  tell  him  what  was 
on  her  mind.  Sometimes  she  gave  an  answer  which 
was  plausible  enough,  and  sometimes  she  laughingly 
refused  to  tell  him  anything. 

All  the  while  the  rain  pattered  outside,  Raimbaut 
was  conscious  that  something  was  passing  in  Loba's 
thoughts  which  should  be  revealed  only  at  a  time  of 
her  own  choosing. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE   LADY   HARD   OF   HEART 

FOR  nearly  a  week  Jourdain  had  planned  to  go  to 
Carcassonne.  He  had  a  long  list  of  articles  for  which 
Loba  had  expressed  a  desire,  and  his  chief  happiness 
being  to  gratify  her,  he  had  looked  despairingly  at 
the  driving  rain.  When  at  last  a  day  dawned  clear, 
and  the  sun  showed  his  smiling  face  over  the  high 
wall  which  encircled  Cabaret,  he  took  his  departure. 

Raimbaut  had  started  forth  even  before  Jourdain. 
With  Peire  as  a  companion,  he  had  gone  in  quest  of  a 
huge  boar,  lately  seen  roaming  through  one  of  the 
rough  mountain  gorges.  It  was  the  first  time  he 
had  deserted  Loba,  yet  he  enjoyed  every  minute  of 
his  absence.  The  baying  of  the  hounds  was  music  to 
his  ear,  and  the  pursuit  through  wood  and  thicket 
a  joy  supreme.  In  the  pleasure  of  the  hunt  he  for- 
got the  questioning,  ever  more  importunate,  of  his 
soul. 

They  came  upon  the  enormous  beast  late  in  the 
afternoon.  He  stood  at  bay  against  a  gnarled  tree 
and  was  defending  himself  stoutly,  having  already 
disembowelled  two  of  the  boar-hounds  with  his  long 
tusks.  To  Raimbaut  came  the  honor  of  the  final 
blow ;  and  in  the  struggle  he  ceased  to  be  conscious  of 
the  battle  that  was  beginning  in  his  own  breast. 

The  shadows  were  gathering  as  he  climbed  the 

290 


THE  LADY  HARD  OF  HEART 

steep  hill  to  Cabaret.  He  was  thinking  very  tenderly 
and  with  some  self-reproach,  of  Loba.  How  beau- 
tiful she  was,  how  kind  she  had  been  to  him!  Hers 
might  not  be  the  Perfect  Love  of  which  he  had 
dreamed,  but  it  was  very  true  and  very  sweet.  He 
rushed  to  his  room  and  threw  off  his  garments,  soiled 
and  torn  by  the  rocks. 

When  he  reached  the  great  hall,  what  was  his  sur- 
prise to  find  with  Loba  none  other  than  the  Countess 
Ermengarda.  She  was  pacing  the  room  with  long 
strides  like  a  man-at-arms,  and  she  met  him  with  a 
smile  in  the  corners  of  her  stern  mouth. 

"  Well,  Messire  Raimbaut,"  she  began  with  an 
assumption  of  extreme  resentment,  "  I  admire  your 
effrontery.  I  was  beginning  to  outgrow  the  dislike  I 
took  to  you  when  we  first  met  at  Beaucaire,  and  here, 
on  the  night  of  my  arrival,  you  keep  me  waiting  for 
my  supper!  " 

"Alas!"  exclaimed  Raimbaut,  "it  is  my  ill-for- 
tune to  offend  where  I  am  most  desirous  of  pleasing!  " 

"  I  must  admit  that  was  a  very  pretty  answer," 
replied  Ermengarda,  her  face  softening  as  she  looked 
at  him,  "  and  I  do  not  know  where  I  have  seen  a 
more  graceful  and  deferential  bow.  You  have  cer- 
tainly learned  something  from  the  teaching  of  gentle 
Alazais.  Tell  me,  why  did  you  leave  her?  " 

To  this  question,  thrown  at  him  with  startling 
abruptness  in  the  very  presence  of  Loba,  Raimbaut 
replied,  — 

"  You  know  it  is  a  poor  bird  that  spends  all  his  life 
291 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

in  the  nest.     I  wished  to  stretch  my  wings.     Further- 
more, I  had  long  cherished  a  desire  to  visit  you." 

Ermengarda  smiled  skeptically. 

"  So  the  desire  to  see  me  won  you  from  Toulouse? 
Messire  Raimbaut,  you  left  Alazais  three  months 
ago.  It  is  an  easy  two  days'  journey  to  Narbonne. 
You  have  been  a  long  time  on  the  road.  Some 
vagrant  fancy  must  have  taken  possession  of  you, 
unless  you  lost  your  way?  It  would  be  a  sore  in- 
jury to  my  pride  to  believe  that  I  have  been  fore- 
stalled in  your  favor  by  some  other  lady.  Even  my 
long  cherished  love  for  Loba  would  turn  to  hate, 
were  I  convinced  that  she  had  detained  you  here 
at  Cabaret." 

"  This  is  all  very  interesting,"  Loba  broke  in,  lead- 
ing the  way  to  the  table.  "  I  feel  quite  a  simpleton  in 
the  presence  of  two  such  wits.  I  hope  that  you  will 
condescend  to  sheathe  your  swords  and  devote  your- 
selves for  a  little  time  to  the  poor  fare  my  table 
affords." 

During  dinner,  Ermengarda  talked  almost  inces- 
santly, as  was  her  wont;  yet  all  the  while  she  studied 
the  two  companions  with  her  sharp  eyes,  and  they 
were  both  aware  of  her  scrutiny.  When  the  meal 
was  ended,  she  turned  to  Raimbaut. 

"  Do  you  know  that  the  good  people  of  Toulouse 
were  beginning  to  think  you  had  furnished  food  for 
the  wolves  on  the  mountain?  You  disappeared  so 
thoroughly  that  no  single  word  had  they  of  you,  when 
I  left  Count  Raimon  this  morning." 

292 


THE  LADY  HARD   OF  HEART 

"  I'  faith,"  replied  Raimbaut,  flushing,  "  I  have 
reached  an  age  when  I  am  able  to  protect  myself  not 
alone  against  wolves,  but  against  whatever  else  may 
come  in  my  path." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Ermengarda,  "  you  were  not  able 
to  reach  Narbonne  in  a  long  three  months!  I  must 
take  you  with  me  at  my  departure,  to  assure  your 
arrival.  Either  the  fair  Loba  is  beginning  to  weary 
of  your  presence,  or  you  are  already  tiring  of  her 
smiles.  It  will  be  a  mercy  for  me  to  separate 
you." 

"  No  one  could  tire  of  the  gracious  Countess  of 
Cabaret,  in  three  months,  or  in  three  years,"  de- 
clared Raimbaut  earnestly.  "  We  have  a  compact 
that  if  either  wearies  of  the  other,  it  is  to  be  confessed 
frankly.  Both  she  and  the  Lady  Alazais  have  been 
more  gracious  to  me  than  I  deserve." 

"  Good,"  exclaimed  Ermengarda,  with  an  approv- 
ing nod.  "  There  are  some  of  our  spoiled  gallants, 
troubadours,  and  barons  too,  who  think  to  gain  a 
reputation  by  boasting  how  this  or  that  great  lady 
vainly  desired  their  song  and  service.  Tell  me  why, 
with  all  Languedoc  from  which  to  choose,  where  are 
a  thousand  chatelaines  with  pretty  faces,  you  planned 
to  come  to  me  at  Narbonne?  " 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  the  last 
question  which  demanded  the  truth.  Raimbaut 
answered,  — 

"  While  I  care  not  to  go  to  you  now,  I  hope  some 
day  to  visit  you.  I  wish  to  gain  your  favor  because 

293 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

of  your  known  devotion  to  the  Gay  Science,  and  your 
kindness  to  the  troubadours." 

"  A  fair  and  courtly  answer,"  exclaimed  Ermen- 
garda,  "  worthy  of  Bernart  in  his  prime,  or  of  the 
other  Raimbaut,  he  of  Courthezon,  —  God  rest  his 
soul !  Do  you  know,  when  I  was  young,  every  woman 
in  Languedoc,  from  fifteen  to  fifty,  loved  one  of  these 
two  men?  Yet  Bernart  now  clings,  like  a  well-fed 
dog,  to  a  warm  fireside  at  Toulouse,  and  the  Count, 
having  grown  too  gross  to  pass  through  the  doors  of 
Courthezon,  died  like  a  rat  in  his  hole  and  rests  under 
a  lying  slab  of  alabaster.  You  seem  to  be  a  strange 
mingling  of  these  two  men.  You  sing  like  Bernart; 
and  you  have  a  bend  of  the  neck  and  a  wave  of  the 
hand  like  the  Count  of  Courthezon  when  he  was  a 
gay  cavalier.  Heigho!.  Between  ourselves,  I  con- 
fess it  was  him  I  loved." 

For  a  long  time  she  studied  the  young  man  in  the 
light  of  the  torches.  Loba  turned  toward  him  also, 
and  in  her  eyes  was  an  expression  which  he  could  not 
read.  She  had  spoken  scarce  a  word. 

"  Humph!  "  said  Ermengarda  at  last.  "  I  know 
that  Peirol  is  your  father,  and  the  Count  of  Courthe* 
zon  was  your  over-lord ;  yet  I  have  never  heard  your 
mother's  name." 

'  That  I  cannot  tell  you.  She  died,  I  think,  at 
my  birth." 

"  Well,  whether  of  high  or  lowly  birth,  she  must 
have  been  a  beauty;  for  truly  I  think,  as  you  stand 
in  the  light,  you  are  the  most  perfect  picture  of  a 

294 


THE  LADY  HARD  OF  HEART 

young  gallant  in  all  the  Midi !  That  is  a  heavy  load 
to  stagger  under,  and  if  you  are  not  spoiled  already, 
spoiling  will  come  soon.  I  do  not  know  which  is  the 
more  unfortunate  —  the  pretty  man,  or  the  plain 
woman.  God  help  them  both!  All  a  man  needs 
is  strength  and  courage.  A  man  without  courage 
and  a  woman  without  beauty  are  alike  unhappy. 
I  would  have  every  plain-faced  girl  put  out  of  her 
misery  at  once  by  the  executioner.  Alack,  it  is  a 
sore  subject  with  me:  let  us  change  it  for  a  better. 
Tell  me,  have  you  found  any  good  songs  since  that 
limping  rhyme  you  made  for  me  at  Toulouse,  begin- 
ning with,  'A  meadow  lark,  rough-handled  in  the 
snare?'" 

"  A  few  have  come  to  me,  some  of  which  have  won 
favor." 

"  Well,  sing  me  your  best  first.  It  will  save 
trouble,  for  if  this  please  me  not,  I  need  hear  no 


more. 
« 


Songs  are  like  dishes,"  said  Raimbaut.  '  There 
are  many  tastes,  and  one  can  never  tell  what  will 
please.  I  have  nothing  worthy  to  offer  you,  but  will 
sing  something  I  made  not  long  ago  which  I  call 
4  Time  a-Flying.'  ' 

Ermengarda  took  her  seat  by  the  window.  Raim- 
baut tuned  his  lute,  improvised  for  a  few  bars,  and 
began  his  chanson. 

"I  measure  time  no  more  by  days  nor  hours, 
I  watch  no  more  the  dial  in  the  sun." 

295 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

When  he  had  finished,  Ermengarda  nodded  her 
head  approvingly. 

"  It  is  not  a  bad  song,  and  you  sing  it  so  that  it 
seems  better  than  it  really  is.  I  have  never  listened 
to  a  voice  of  richer  quality.  You  have  no  rival  ex- 
cept Peire  Vidal,  who  is  chanting  the  praises  of  the 
Countess  of  Marseille.  She  is  even  now  at  Toulouse 
with  the  jolly  Count,  her  husband.  He  is  much  more 
enthusiastic  than  she,  and  declares  Vidal  writes  the 
best  songs  that  have  ever  been  penned,  and  that  he 
can  climb  three  notes  higher  than  any  troubadour 
in  Provence.  Still,  I  care  not  for  such  gymnastics. 
Give  me  a  voice  with  more  quality  to  it.  Tell  me, 
my  good  Raimbaut,  what  are  you  planning  to  sing 
at  Le  Puy?  " 

"  My  lady,  I  am  not  certain  that  I  shall  enter  the 
contest  for  the  Golden  Sparrow-Hawk." 

"  Not  contest  at  Le  Puy!  "  exclaimed  Ermengarda. 
"  You  cannot  stay  away.  I  must  throw  aside  all 
diplomacy  and  tell  you  what  has  occurred  at  Tou- 
louse. So  mad  over  Vidal  is  Count  Barral  of  Mar- 
seille, that  he  offered  to  wager  half  his  fortune  that 
the  little  man  with  a  voice  which  he  calls  a  '  tenori 
vapeur  '  would  carry  away  the  prize.  Count  Raimon 
accepted  the  challenge  for  a  large  sum,  and  I  did  not 
hesitate  to  risk  a  year's  revenue.  There  is  not  the 
least  doubt  that  Peire  will  win  unless  you  appear;  for 
there  is  none  other  in  all  Provence  who  can  equal 
him.  I  have  come  to  beg  that  you  will  leave 
Cabaret  for  a  little  while.  Borneil  has  agreed  to 

296 


THE  LADY  HARD  OF  HEART 

receive  you  as  his  pupil  at  Montpellier.  A  winter 
spent  in  study  with  him  would  prepare  you  not 
alone  for  Le  Puy,  but  for  your  life-work  which 
must  follow." 

As  she  spoke,  Raimbaut' s  eyes  glistened,  and  he 
looked  eagerly  at  Loba.  One  glance  decided  him. 

"  Indeed,  you  are  all  in  league  to  flatter  me.  I 
cannot  go  to  Borneil,  neither  shall  I  sing  at  Le 
Puy." 

"  Then  leave  us  to  ourselves!  "  exclaimed  Ermen- 
garda  angrily.  "  I  would  talk  with  Loba  here 
alone.  Though  I  have  no  hope  of  teaching  you 
wisdom,  she  may  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say." 

Ermengarda  remained  at  Cabaret  for  a  full  week. 
After  her  very  summary  dismissal  of  Raimbaut  on 
the  night  of  her  arrival,  she  was  kindness  itself.  Her 
knowledge  about  all  matters  connected  with  his  art 
was  profound.  They  spent  many  hours  together,  and 
she  gave  the  young  troubadour  much  valuable  ad- 
vice. She  made  no  direct  attempt  to  induce  him 
anew  to  leave  Cabaret.  Yet  as  the  result  of  her  in- 
fluence, his  ambition,  almost  dead,  awoke  to  new  life. 
Soon,  in  spite  of  all  his  determination,  he  could  not 
put  the  thought  of  Le  Puy  out  of  his  mind.  He 
knew  well  enough  that  Ermengarda  was  hoping  every 
day  he  would  announce  his  intention  of  following  her 
to  Narbonne,  and  from  thence  to  Borneil  at  Mont- 
pellier ;  but  he  remained  loyal  to  Loba,  and  would  not 
yield.  At  last,  Ermengarda  gave  up  in  despair. 
Her  parting  words  to  Raimbaut  were,  — 

297 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

"  Should  a  single  ray  of  wisdom  penetrate  your 
handsome  head  and  lead  you  to  decide  to  go  to  Mont- 
pellier,  you  must  first  visit  me  for  a  few  days  in  Nar- 
bonne.  In  spite  of  your  stubbornness,  I  cannot  help 
liking  you.  Not  alone  for  the  sake  of  my  wager  shall 
I  pray  to  see  you  at  Le  Puy." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

WHEN   LOVE   GROWS   COLD 

WHEN  Ermengarda  disappeared  through  the  gate- 
way Loba  and  Raimbaut  climbed  the  stairway 
together  to  the  top  of  the  tower.  They  had  hardly 
found  a  moment  to  be  alone  since  the  Countess 
arrived  at  Cabaret.  Now  Loba  seemed  her  old  self 
again,  bubbling  over  with  high  spirits,  always  ready 
with  a  witty  answer  and  an  apt  word.  Raimbaut 
was  happy  as  he  had  not  been  since  their  Garden  of 
Eden  was  disturbed  by  the  serpent,  Berguedan. 

It  was  mid-afternoon,  and  Raimbaut  stood  looking 
southward  toward  Carcassonne.  For  a  long  time  he 
had  not  spoken;  Loba  watched  him  keenly,  with 
half-closed  eyes.  Suddenly  the  light  went  out  of  her 
face  and  she  grew  pale  to  the  very  lips. 

"  Raimbaut,"  she  said,  speaking  almost  in  a  whis- 
per, "  I  have  decided  to  let  you  go  to  Montpellier. 
Kiss  me,  and  say  farewell." 

Raimbaut  was  so  lost  in  thought  that  at  first  he 
did  not  comprehend  the  meaning  of  the  words.  He 
turned  and  looked  at  her  wonderingly.  Realization 
came  to  him  slowly,  but  not  a  sound  could  he 
utter. 

Having  pronounced  the  verdict,  Loba  drew  a  long 
breath  of  relief  and  spoke  more  easily. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can  tell  you  why  I  send  you 
299 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

from  me,  yet  I  will  try  to  speak  of  what  is  in  my  heart. 
From  the  moment  that  Ermengarda  spoke  to  us,  I 
knew  that  the  time  of  parting  was  near  at  hand. 
When  you  refused  her  I  grew  more  certain,  for  my 
love  waxed  stronger,  and  this  was  my  undoing.  Had 
I  loved  you  less  I  should  have  kept  you  here  with  me 
at  Cabaret,  careless  of  your  future.  I  confess  it 
gratified  my  pride  that  she  was  forced  to  ride  away 
without  you.  Had  she  never  come  to  us  to  kindle 
your  ambition  by  speaking  of  Le  Puy,  you  would 
have  stayed  with  me  contentedly  a  while  longer. 
Yet  you  were  growing  weary  of  Cabaret,  for  each 
day  you  looked  longer  at  the  green  fields  in  the  south, 
you  spent  a  longer  time  in  reverie.  I  do  not  interest 
you  as  once  I  did!  You  need  not  shake  your  head. 
I  send  you  away  now  while  you  still  love  me  a  little, 
because  I  cannot  bear  to  have  you  linger  until  the 
last  spark  of  love  is  dead.  When  love  grows  cold, 
even  the  gods  cannot  rekindle  it." 

As  she  spoke  she  looked  straight  into  Raimbaut's 
eyes,  a  smile  on  her  pallid  lips.  There  was  mingled 
love,  wonder,  and  entreaty  in  his  glance.  Suddenly 
his  cheeks  flamed,  his  eyes  grew  black  with  anger. 

"  Why  do  you  tell  me  this?  Why  not  say  plainly 
that  you  care  no  longer  for  me?  " 

"  Because,"  replied  Loba,  "  I  can  tell  you  nothing 
but  the  truth.  My  faith  has  been  in  the  little  likings 
that  come  and  go.  I  was  always  a  wanton  at  heart, 
until  I  saw  you  in  the  courtyard  at  Toulouse,  with  the 
sunlight  on  your  brow.  Since  then  I  have  been 

300 


WHEN  LOVE  GROWS   COLD 

possessed  by  a  true  passion  I  could  not  resist.  I  was 
always  selfish ;  yet  I  have  come  to  love  you  more  than 
myself,  and  it  is  of  you  I  think  when  I  bid  you  go. 
Why  should  I  lie?  I  wish  to  God  that  there  had 
never  been  put  within  my  heart  a  worship  like  this  I 
bear  for  you!  " 

At  these  words  Raimbaut's  anger  died.  There  was 
sincerity  in  every  accent.  Yet  he  did  not  believe  her 
verdict  was  irrevocable. 

"  When  shall  I  go?     To-morrow?  " 

"  Within  the  hour,"  she  replied.  "Even  now 
Jacques  is  gathering  your  belongings  together,  with  a 
few  gifts  which  I  hope  you  will  treasure  in  memory  of 
the  golden  days  which  are  past.  Now,  once  more, 
kiss  me,  and  say  farewell." 

For  a  moment  their  lips  touched,  but  hers  were  cold 
as  death.  She  put  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  and 
studied  his  face  as  if  she  were  looking  upon  one  who 
had  fallen  into  the  long  sleep.  Her  eyes  filled;  one 
large  tear  rolled  unheeded  down  her  cheek. 

At  this  Raimbaut's  love  came  back  like  a  torrent. 
He  would  have  gathered  her  into  his  arms,  had  not 
some  strange  power  restrained  him. 

"  I  will  not  leave  you! "  he  cried  despairingly,  for 
something  told  him  he  could  not  hope  to  change  her. 
"  If  I  stay  not  as  your  lover  and  your  troubadour,  I 
will  serve  as  a  varlet  in  the  stables,  to  groom  the 
palfrey  on  which  you  ride.  I  will  tend  the  dog  that 
comes  at  your  call." 

He  threw  himself  at  her  feet,  gaining  hope  from  the 
301 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

sound  of  his  own  voice  and  the  fervor  of  his  decla- 
ration. 

She  placed  her  hand  upon  his  bowed  head. 

"  No  word  can  influence  me,  though  all  the  time 
you  speak,  my  heart  play  the  traitor  and  beg  me  to 
listen.  This  is  our  separation.  Many  will  love  you, 
but  the  ideal  woman  of  whom  you  dream  will  be 
hard  to  find.  Alas,  she  does  not  dwell  at  Cabaret! 
Though  the  purpose  of  your  life  would  be  thwarted 
should  you  linger  here,  I  should  keep  you  did  I  not 
believe  you  would  break  away  from  me  at  last,  in 
utter  weariness.  Only  a  woman's  world  is  circled 
within  the  boundaries  of  her  heart.  I  pray  you  may 
win  success  and  happiness,  though  I  be  not  near  to 
see  it.  I  think  I  shall  yet  learn  to  pray,  if  I  can  find 
some  good  old  priest  to  teach  me.  Now,  farewell." 

To  the  silent  appeal  of  Raimbaut's  eyes,  more 
eloquent  than  words,  she  smiled  a  joyless  smile,  and 
shook  her  head  again  sadly. 

"  May  God  keep  you!  May  you  find  the  Perfect 
Love!" 

He  pressed  his  lips  to  the  white  hand  which  hung 
listless  by  her  side,  turned  from  her,  and  staggered 
down  the  stairs. 

Left  alone,  Loba  stood  motionless  until  the  last 
echoing  footstep  died  away.  Then  she  lifted  the 
hand  on  which  his  lips  had  last  rested,  and  kissed  it 
passionately.  She  raised  her  long  arms  above  her 
head  with  a  gesture  of  entreaty,  and  looked  up  de- 
spairingly at  the  hopeless  sky.  With  hungry  eyes  she 

302 


WHEN  LOVE  GROWS   COLD 

followed  the  wall  of  ragged  rocks  which  shut  her  in. 
Suddenly  she  caught  sight  of  the  lonely  apple  on  the 
tree;  she  plucked  it  eagerly  and  tore  it  open  with 
strong  fingers.  She  could  see  where  the  poison  lurked 
about  the  core.  She  gave  an  inarticulate  cry  of  joy. 
Then  she  buried  her  white  teeth  in  the  deadly  fruit. 

So  overwhelmed  was  Raimbaut  by  his  emotion, 
that  when  he  found  himself  riding  down  the  steep 
path,  he  seemed  to  wake  out  of  a  swoon.  Jacques 
followed  close  behind  him,  leading  a  pack-horse. 
They  passed  through  Lastours  and  came  to  the 
parting  of  the  ways.  The  road  to  the  left  led  to 
Carcassonne,  the  narrow  path  to  the  right  through 
the  forest  and  over  the  mountains  to  the  north  and 
east.  Up  to  this  moment  Raimbaut  had  made  no 
plan  concerning  his  future.  Hoping  against  hope, 
he  turned  and  gave  one  last  look  at  Loba's  tower:  it 
was  lonely  and  deserted. 

"  Which  way  shall  we  go?  "  asked  Jacques. 

"  Over  the  mountains  to  Narbonne,"  replied  Raim- 
baut, for  he  longed  for  solitude,  and  the  narrow  road 
through  the  woods  appealed  to  his  sombre  mood. 
They  passed  the  spot  where  but  for  Loba  the  arrow 
would  have  ended  his  life,  and  he  saw  the  ragged  shaft 
still  embedded  in  the  trunk  of  the  tree. 

Once  through  the  forest,  the  riders  came  into  the 
open  country,  and  climbed  higher  and  higher  among 
the  steep  rocks.  When  they  reached  the  summit  and 
paused  to  rest  their  horses,  the  black  clouds  were 
beginning  to  gather.  There  was  not  the  least  sign 

303 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

of  any  habitation,  although  they  could  see  a  long 
distance  ahead.  They  put  spurs  to  their  horses,  and 
galloped  rapidly  along  the  rocky  road,  looking  keenly 
about  for  a  place  of  shelter.  Nothing  was  in  sight 
but  the  barren  rocks.  The  shadows  were  deepening 
and  the  big  raindrops  beginning  to  fall,  when  Jacques 
spied  a  poor  castle  consisting  of  a  square  tower,  built 
on  the  very  edge  of  a  precipice,  with  a  few  outlying 
buildings  enclosed  in  a  rough  wall.  It  was  a  scant 
mile  ahead,  but  a  little  distance  from  the  roadway, 
and  they  galloped  towards  it  at  full  speed.  Jacques 
leaped  quickly  from  his  horse,  handed  his  bridle  to 
Raimbaut,  and  beat  loudly  on  the  door.  Again  and 
again  he  cried  out,  and  at  last  there  appeared  at  the 
lattice  a  red  face  surrounded  by  a  black  beard  and  a 
mop  of  tousled  hair. 

"  What  would  you  here?  "  demanded  a  sour  voice. 

"  An  entrance,  in  the  name  of  Our  Lady  of  Pity!  " 
replied  Jacques.  "  Go  tell  your  master  there  are  two 
strangers  at  the  gate  who  crave  shelter  from  the  storm 
and  a  lodging  for  the  night." 

"  My  master!  "  said  the  man,  grinning  widely. 
"  Troth,  I  have  no  master  but  the  devil.  Who  are 
you  that  come  pounding  at  my  door,  waking  me  from 
my  nap?  " 

Jacques,  smothering  his  resentment,  doffed  his  cap 
politely,  and  explained  that  it  was  Messire  Raimbaut 
of  Vacqueiras  whom  he  served,  and  who  was  on  his 
way  to  Montpellier. 

"  And  what  business  has  he  with  me?  Why  should 
304 


WHEN  LOVE  GROWS  COLD 

I  do  aught  for  him?  "  enquired  the  red  visage  at  the 
lattice,  evidently  amused  at  his  visitor's  dilemma. 

"  There  is  no  business  whatever  between  us," 
replied  Raimbaut,  speaking  for  the  first  time,  and 
as  good-humoredly  as  he  could,  with  the  wind  coming 
in  fierce  gusts  and  the  rain  pelting  against  his  back. 
"  Yet  I  shall  be  pleased  to  sing  for  you  by  the  fireside 
to-night,  and  I  have  a  story  or  two  worth  the  telling. 
Moreover,  my  man  here  can  show  you  a  twist  and  a 
tumble  such  as  will  astonish  your  eyes." 

"  You  do  not  tempt  me,"  said  the  man,  laughing 
mockingly.  "  I  have  no  ear  for  music,  and  care  not 
for  silly  stories.  The  last  time  I  took  a  joglar  into 
the  house,  by  some  sleight  of  hand  he  carried  away 
with  him  a  silver  mug  worth  more  than  his  wretched 
neck!" 

This  was  too  much  for  Jacques,  who  exclaimed,  — 

"  Would  you  treat  every  man  as  a  thief  because  one 
villain  has  stolen  from  you?  I  would  not  drive  a  dog 
away  on  such  a  night !  I  pray  you  be  no  longer  merry 
at  our  expense." 

At  this  the  grin  disappeared  and  the  man  replied, — 

"  If  I  treat  the  matter  no  longer  as  a  joke,  I  shall 
come  outside  and  cudgel  you  soundly  for  your  im- 
pudence! The  country-side  is  covered  with  useless 
mountebanks.  Get  you  gone,  or  it  will  be  the  worse 
for  you." 

It  did  not  seem  possible  that  any  one  could  be  so 
cruel  as  to  turn  two  strangers  adrift  in  such  a  night 
and  such  a  storm;  but  the  fellow  made  his  intention 

305 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

plain  by  closing  the  lattice,  and  leaving  them  to  the 
inclement  weather  and  the  gathering  night. 

It  had  become  so  dark  that  there  was  nothing  left 
for  them  but  to  seek  the  shelter  of  the  rocks.  To  add 
to  their  discomfiture,  at  this  moment  the  pack-horse 
broke  loose.  Jacques  spurred  after  him,  and  Raim- 
baut  found  himself  alone.  The  storm  redoubled  its 
fury;  he  could  not  see  a  dozen  paces  away.  He 
waited  patiently  for  Jacques'  return,  and  when  he 
came  not  back,  Raimbaut  cried  his  name  lustily. 
He  received  no  reply,  and  was  about  to  follow  in  the 
direction  whither  Jacques  had  disappeared,  when  he 
saw  a  torch  flaring  from  the  castle,  and  the  surly 
custodian  came  through  the  driving  rain  to  his  side. 

"  Look  you,  it  was  only  my  jest,"  he  shouted  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  in  order  to  make  himself  heard.  "  I 
left  the  lattice  to  open  the  door,  but  you  had  gone 
away.  Come  into  the  castle,  and  I  will  give  you  dry 
clothing,  a  good  bed,  and  a  hot  supper." 

"  Right  glad  am  I  to  accept  your  invitation," 
replied  Raimbaut;  u  but  my  man  has  vanished  and  I 
must  wait  for  his  return." 

"  He  cannot  have  gone  far:  I  will  leave  the  torch 
flaring  over  the  door  to  guide  his  footsteps." 

This  promise  being  made,  Raimbaut  followed  the 
man  a  little  doubtfully,  and  soon  found  himself  before 
a  hot  fire,  with  a  flagon  of  spiced  wine  in  his  hand. 
He  quaffed  it  in  a  single  draught,  and  a  moment 
later  sank  into  a  deep  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   BIRD   CAGE 

RAIMBAUT  thought  he  was  once  again  in  the  old 
mill.  Jacques  was  moving  busily  to  and  fro  with  the 
farmer's  corn,  the  water  was  rushing  against  the 
wheel,  and  the  mill-stones  were  making  an  infernal 
clatter.  For  a  long  time  it  seemed  painful,  but  not  at 
all  strange,  that  his  head  was  being  used  for  the 
lower  stone,  against  which  the  kernels  were  being 
ground.  But  as  he  gradually  regained  consciousness, 
he  realized  that  although  his  head  was  full  of  weird 
noises,  it  was  not  a  part  of  the  mill. 

Greatly  relieved  at  this  conclusion,  he  raised  him- 
self on  his  elbow,  but  fell  back  deadly  sick  and  faint 
on  a  pile  of  straw,  and  was  content  to  remain  as  he 
was.  Slowly  his  strength  returned,  and  he  sat 
upright,  with  his  back  against  the  cold  wall,  to  look 
around  him.  He  remembered  drinking  spiced  wine, 
leaning  on  the  table,  and  falling  asleep.  By  what 
means  he  had  been  transported  to  this  little  room 
with  the  rough  gray  walls,  he  could  not  in  the  least 
imagine.  There  was  plenty  of  light  from  the  window ; 
in  the  corner  was  his  lute;  but  there  was  nothing  else 
save  the  straw  on  which  he  lay. 

He  was  about  to  rise  when  he  heard  the  rattle  of 
bolts.  Reaching  for  his  dagger,  he  found  he  had 
only  the  little  pouch  at  his  belt  which  contained 

307 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

strings  for  his  lute.  As  he  leaned  on  his  elbow,  faint 
and  dizzy,  the  door  opened,  and  there  walked  into 
the  room  the  same  crusty  sentinel  who  had  admitted 
him  to  the  castle,  after  refusing  shelter.  He  put 
down  a  jug  of  water  and  a  loaf  of  bread  by  the  side  of 
Raimbaut,  and  went  out  without  a  word.  He  was  a 
sullen  villain,  with  black  hair  and  sallow  skin,  the 
birthright  of  the  Spaniard.  Scarce  the  height  of  a 
man,  he  was  of  prodigious  girth,  and  carried  a  long 
dagger  ready  in  his  hand. 

No  sooner  had  the  door  clanged  than  Raimbaut 
seized  the  jug  and  drank  deeply,  for  his  throat  was 
parched.  He  was  so  much  refreshed  that  he  raised 
himself  to  his  feet,  and  staggered  to  the  window, 
through  which  came  the  cool  breeze  of  early  morning. 
At  first  glance  he  saw  that  he  was  incarcerated  in  the 
mountain  castle,  for  he  recognized  the  discolored 
rocks  and  the  yawning  chasm.  He  knew  he  was  a 
prisoner.  He  wondered  that  the  window  was  so 
large,  and  with  but  a  single  bar  which  left  a  space  on 
either  side.  When  he  climbed  into  the  embrasure, 
however,  he  saw  how  unnecessary  it  was  to  protect 
the  window,  for  there  was  a  fall  of  a  thousand  feet 
beneath  it.  The  castle-wall  rose  without  a  break 
from  the  sheer  precipice.  It  was  utterly  impossible 
for  an  enemy  to  clamber  up,  and  just  as  hopeless  for 
a  prisoner  to  try  to  escape,  unless,  indeed,  he  were 
blessed  with  wings. 

If  he  had  any  doubt  as  to  whose  prisoner  he  really 
was,  it  was  set  at  rest  by  the  opening  of  the  door  and 

308 


THE  BIRD  CAGE 

the  appearance  of  Berguedan.  The  Spaniard  was 
humming  the  refrain  of,  "  Oh,  love  is  the  wine  of  life!  " 
as  if  he  had  not  a  care  in  the  world.  He  entered  with 
a  polite  bow  and  no  sign  of  triumph  on  his  smiling 
face.  His  "  Good  morning,  Messire  Raimbaut;  I 
hope  you  passed  a  pleasant  night!  "  was  pronounced 
as  easily  as  if  they  were  joint  visitors  at  Courthezon, 
and  nothing  had  occurred  to  mar  a  friendly  acquaint- 
ance. He  walked  quietly  over  to  the  corner  of  the 
room,  took  up  Raimbaut's  lute,  and  began  to  play, 
gently  praising  the  quality  of  its  tone. 

Raimbaut  watched  for  several  minutes,  with  diffi- 
culty restraining  himself.  His  fingers  wandered 
stealthily  to  his  empty  belt,  only  to  realize  that,  un- 
armed, he  had  not  a  chance  against  Berguedan,  who 
wore  both  sword  and  dagger.  At  last  he  forced 
himself  to  say  calmly,  — 

"  I  do  not  care  to  discuss  either  the  morning,  my 
night's  rest,  or  the  tones  of  my  lute.  What  do  you 
mean  to  do  with  me?  Why  have  you  pursued  me  all 
these  years?  " 

Berguedan  shook  his  head  deprecatingly  still 
strumming  softly  on  the  lute,  — 

"  My  dear  Raimbaut,  why  should  we  occupy  our- 
selves with  a  disagreeable  subject?  Have  you  heard 
this  little  thing  I  composed  to  the  praise  of  the  fair 
Loba?  " 

With  this  preamble,  he  broke  into  a  song  in  which 
the  charms  of  the  Countess  of  Cabaret  were  not  too 
delicately  described;  and,  having  finished,  he  turned 

309 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

to  his  unwilling  auditor,  and  inquired  with  an  assump- 
tion of  deep  interest,  — 

"  Tell  me  truly  what  you  think  of  it.  You  know 
we  singers  should  be  frank  with  each  other." 

"  I  will  answer  this  question,"  replied  Raimbaut, 
"  with  the  understanding  that  you  reply  in  turn  to 
mine.  I  think  it  a  foul  song,  well  sung  by  the  vilest 
demon  that  ever  escaped  from  the  gates  of  hell. 
Now  keep  your  promise:  answer!  Why  have  you 
pursued  me?  What  is  your  plan,  now  that  you  have 
me  trapped?  " 

Berguedan  played  a  few  more  notes  as  if  loath  to 
lay  the  lute  aside.  Then  he  said,  — 

"  Speaking  of  traps,  it  may  interest  you  to  know 
how  near  I  came  to  losing  the  game  for  which  I  set 
the  toil.  You  left  Cabaret  so  suddenly  that  my 
messenger  reached  me  after  Felipe  had  already  sent 
you  from  the  door,  not  knowing  who  you  were.  Is 
it  not  amusing  to  think  of  the  bird  being  beaten  away 
from  the  very  snare  that  was  laid  for  him?  Was  it 
not  fortunate,  when  I  sent  Felipe  out  into  the  storm 
with  apologies  for  his  lack  of  courtesy,  that  he  found 
you  and  brought  you  back?  Although  he  spent  half 
the  night  searching  for  Jacques,  he  failed  to  discover 
any  trace  of  him;  I  fear  the  good  fellow  must  have 
stumbled  over  a  precipice  in  the  dark." 

"  You  will  pardon  me,"  said  Raimbaut,  "  when  I 
tell  you  that  your  story  does  not  entertain  me,  and 
remind  you  of  your  promise.  Why  have  you  pur- 
sued me?  What  is  to  be  my  fate?  " 

310 


THE   BIRD   CAGE 

"  As  you  insist,  I  will  tell  you  some  of  the  reasons 
why  I  have  sought  your  society  ever  since  our  meet- 
ing at  Courthezon.  I  shall  tell  you  no  falsehood; 
perhaps  not  quite  the  whole  truth,  but  at  least  a  part. 
I  shall  make  the  story  short  as  possible.  Are  you 
sure  I  shall  not  weary  you?  " 

"  I  shall  not  be  wearied." 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  must  declare,  my  dear  friend, 
that  in  my  heart  there  is  not  the  least  ill-will.  In- 
deed, I  long  ago  took  a  liking  to  you,  which,  under 
happier  circumstances,  might  have  ripened  into 
friendship." 

The  Spaniard  said  this  with  such  an  affectation  of 
good  fellowship  that  Raimbaut  could  scarce  keep  his 
hands  from  his  enemy's  throat. 

"  It  was  my  misfortune,"  continued  Berguedan, 
"to  be  chosen  as  the  ambassador  of  a  very  noble 
family  who  desired  to  secure  possession  of  a  certain 
Book  of  Hours.  I  tried  at  first  to  obtain  this  from 
you  at  Courthezon.  You  must  know  it  is  my  nature 
to  take  the  most  direct  and  honorable  course.  When 
this  did  not  succeed,  I  was  forced  to  follow  a  more 
devious  path.  Unjust  suspicion  that  I  had  killed  the 
fat  Count  made  my  departure  from  Provence  impera- 
tive. By  my  orders,  Antoine  made  his  clumsy  at- 
tempt at  Beaucaire,  and  failed  again  at  Toulouse.  It 
was  only  a  few  months  ago  that  I  received  instructions 
that  not  alone  was  it  necessary  to  obtain  the  Book, 
but  that  your  death  was  essential  to  the  peace  and 
prosperity  of  many  exalted  personages.  You  can 

3" 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

imagine  my  horror  at  finding  myself  bound  to  carry 
out  such  a  command?  " 

'  Yes,"  said  Raimbaut  quietly;  "  I  can  imagine 
your  dismay." 

"Thank  you,  my  friend:  it  is  safe  to  trust  one 
gentleman  to  understand  another.  It  is  not  surpris- 
ing that  I  was  unsuccessful  in  a  mission  so  foreign  to 
my  taste.  You  escaped  the  first  attack  at  Cabaret 
because  Antoine,  who,  I  assure  you,  is  not  a  bad  shot, 
sent  his  arrow  a  hand-breadth  wild.  The  second 
time  a  sudden  turn  saved  you  in  the  courtyard. 
Finally,  you  avoided  a  most  romantic  death  in  the 
delightful  company  of  Loba,  because  of  this  charm- 
ing lady's  bright  eyes  and  brighter  wits.  There  is  a 
woman  for  you !  She  has  not  her  equal  in  all  Pro- 
vence. Tell  me,  my  friend,  how  did  you  get  the 
strength  to  leave  her?  " 

"In  order  that  you  may  have  no  least  excuse  for 
lying,  I  will  tell  you  that  the  Countess  Loba  wearied 
of  me  and  sent  me  away,"  replied  Raimbaut,  the 
blood  throbbing  fiercely  in  his  veins.  The  Spaniard's 
words  and  manner  were  alike  maddening,  and  all  the 
time  he  touched  the  strings  of  the  lute  with  careless 
fingers,  making  Raimbaut's  nerves  vibrate  with 
hatred. 

"  My  experience  was  so  revolting  to  my  better 
nature,"  Berguedan  went  on,  "  that  when  my  last 
attempt  failed  at  Cabaret,  I  decided  not  to  follow  out 
the  letter  of  my  instructions.  I  lay  in  wait  for  you 
here.  Your  wine  was  flavored  by  a  drug  of  rare 

312 


THE  BIRD  CAGE 

potency;  and  when  you  fell  asleep,  we  brought  you 
to  this  room.  You  will  notice  how  fully  I  am  grati- 
fying your  natural  curiosity?  " 

"  I  must  thank  you,"  said  Raimbaut,  adopting  in 
spite  of  himself  Berguedan's  suave  speech  and  man- 
ner; "  I  most  sincerely  thank  you  for  answering  one 
of  the  questions  which  I  had  the  honor  to  put  to  you. 
The  second,  however,  in  which  I  asked  your  present 
intentions  concerning  my  poor  self,  you  have  so  far 
neglected." 

"  A  thousand  pardons !  "  exclaimed  Berguedan.  "  I 
confess  I  was  half  resolved  to  drop  you  quietly  out  of 
the  window,  this  morning.  For  your  death  I  am 
promised  many  pieces  of  gold  which  would  jingle 
merrily  in  my  pocket;  but  I  have  not  the  heart  to 
feed  the  crows  with  your  comely  carcass.  I  really 
cannot  kill  you!  Yet,  though  I  permit  you  to  live, 
your  imprisonment  must  be  close  and  continuous. 
As  far  as  the  outside  world  is  concerned,  you  are 
henceforth  dead.  I  shall  present  the  Book  of  Hours 
to  the  lady  in  whose  interest  I  have  acted,  tell  her  a 
very  pathetic  story  of  your  last  moments,  and  obtain 
the  prize  which,  you  will  admit,  I  rightly  deserve." 

"  That  you  may  some  time  obtain  a  fitting  recom- 
pense shall  be  my  constant  prayer,"  declared  the 
otHer  scornfully. 

"  Your  appreciation  is  my  greatest  reward,"  con- 
tinued Berguedan.  "  Felipe  has  careful  instructions 
to  make  you  comfortable,  and  I  think  you  will 
admit  this  room  to  be  a  very  decent  cage  for  a  very 

313 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

handsome  bird.  I  am  sure  you  must  have  noticed 
my  thoughtfulness  in  leaving  a  troubadour  the  com- 
panionship of  his  lute?  And  now,  Messire  Raimbaut, 
my  apologies  and  farewell.  I  hope  you  will  not  get 
over-wearied.  But  if  you  find  life  unsupportable, 
there  is  always  the  window,  through  which  you  can 
make  a  quick  escape  to  heaven." 

For  a  long  time  Raimbaut  sat  motionless  in  the 
embrasure.  At  last  he  stepped  down  carefully  on 
the  floor,  for  he  was  still  weak  and  his  brain  was 
whirling  from  the  effect  of  the  drug.  A  few  moments 
he  paced  up  and  down,  until  the  full  horror  of  his 
situation  dawned  upon  him.  Then  he  threw  him- 
self against  the  thick  oak  door  and  tore  at  the  cracks 
until  the  blood  oozed  from  his  finger-tips.  He  was 
beating  with  his  clenched  fist  when  the  bolts  were 
thrown  back  and  his  jailer  entered. 

"  Well,  my  pretty  singing-bird,"  said  he  grufHy,  "  I 
suppose  you  either  do  not  like  your  cage,  or  are  trying 
your  voice.  I  must  ask  you  to  choose  some  other 
time  for  your  chansons,  as  this  is  the  hour  for  my 
morning  nap,  and  I  grow  ugly  if  disturbed." 

He  clanged  the  door  behind  him,  and  Raimbaut 
staggered  to  the  pile  of  straw,  and  fell  asleep  from 
sheer  exhaustion. 

He  did  not  wake  until  the  dawn  of  the  next  day, 
and  was  almost  restored  by  his  long  rest.  He  con- 
sidered his  situation  calmly.  It  was  not  pleasant  to 
be  a  captive,  but  it  was  much  better  than  to  feed  the 
crows  which  fluttered  over  the  gorge.  There  must 

314 


THE  BIRD  CAGE 

be  some  way  to  free  himself,  and  he  resolved  to 
find  it. 

More  than  anything  else,  his  mind  was  occupied 
with  Berguedan's  story.  How  could  he,  Raimbaut 
of  Vacqueiras,  threaten  the  peace  of  any  noble  family? 
Of  what  use  was  his  Book  of  Hours  to  them?  He 
now  began  to  realize  how  much  the  volume  had  meant 
to  him.  For  many  years  he  had  read  at  night  and 
morning  from  the  beautiful  pages,  and  as  he  put  his 
hand  in  the  empty  pocket  of  his  tunic,  he  felt  strangely 
lonely  and  bereft.  He  longed  to  look  again  at  the  pure 
face  of  Saint  Love,  against  whom  he  had  so  deeply 
sinned.  Then  came  thoughts  of  Loba,  and  his  heart 
was  filled  with  a  longing  more  intense  than  physical 
hunger.  He  could  see  the  tall  figure,  the  red  braids, 
the  ever-loving  face.  Why  must  he  remember  it  pale 
and  tear-stained,  with  an  expression  of  unutterable 
longing?  Should  he  ever  hold  her  in  his  arms  again? 
Only  by  grim  determination  could  he  forget  her  for  a 
moment,  and  turn  his  mind  to  plans  of  escape. 

He  examined  every  stone  of  his  prison,  every  inch 
of  the  heavy  door  which  confined  him;  he  looked 
out  of  the  window  and  scrutinized  the  masonry. 
There  was  not  the  least  sign  of  a  foothold.  His 
glance  followed  each  crevice  of  the  precipice  to  the 
bottom  of  the  gorge  where  the  mountain  torrent 
fumed  and  fretted.  Yes,  it  would  be  easy  to  end  it 
all!  As  he  looked,  the  height-madness  stole  over 
him.  Unseen  hands  seemed  to  beckon! 

Conscious  of  his  danger,  he  forced  himself  to  leave 
315 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

the  embrasure.  He  decided  that  for  the  present,  at 
least,  there  was  no  hope.  He  realized  how  important 
it  was  to  steady  his  mind  by  occupation,  and  resolved 
to  devote  himself  to  his  art.  He  determined  to  pre- 
pare himself  then  and  there  for  Le  Puy,  as  if  no  doubt 
existed  of  his  attendance  at  the  festival.  His  jailer 
allowed  him  pens  and  parchment  on  which  he  could 
write  the  words  and  music  which  he  composed.  At 
last  he  selected  the  chanson  with  which  he  hoped  to 
win  the  Golden  Sparrow-Hawk.  He  spent  hours 
each  day  in  song,  and  in  order  that  he  might  keep  his 
physical  strength,  he  practised  the  joglar  feats  which 
he  had  seen  Jacques  perform,  until  the  blood  flowed 
freely  through  his  veins. 

So  the  first  month  passed,  and  the  second.  Raim- 
baut  saw  not  the  smallest  chance  of  freedom,  but  he 
kept  a  careful  record  of  the  days  as  they  passed.  He 
became  strangely  apathetic,  his  mind  occupied  wholly 
with  his  work.  He  had  never  before  had  such  ideal 
conditions:  there  were  no  diversions,  no  duties,  no 
exacting  friends!  There  came  to  him  many  new 
thoughts,  and  he  studied  the  effect  of  unusual  accom- 
paniments on  his  lute.  He  even  added  two  more 
notes  to  his  register,  and  his  whole  voice  gained  in 
quality  and  volume. 

It  was  when  the  festival  at  Le  Puy  was  almost  due 
that  he  began  to  feel  vaguely  uneasy  and  dissatisfied. 
He  realized  that  from  the  far  corners  of  Provence  the 
little  cavalcades  were  starting  out,  all  intent  upon 
the  same  goal.  He  knew  that  scores  of  young  trouba- 


THE  BIRD  CAGE 

dours  were  rehearsing  the  songs  with  which  they 
hoped  to  win  applause,  rich  gifts,  and  perhaps  the 
Golden  Sparrow-Hawk  itself.  No  doubt  Peire  Vidal 
was  riding  forth  gay  and  confident,  with  his  patron 
Barral  of  Marseille  and  the  beautiful  Countess.  At 
this  last  thought  there  came  an  irresistible  desire  to 
be  free,  not  alone  for  freedom's  sake,  but  that  he 
might  test  his  powers  against  his  rival.  Each  hour 
he  grew  more  impatient.  When  the  first  day  of  the 
festival  arrived,  he  found  himself  unable  to  touch 
either  lute  or  pen.  As  he  pictured  the  gay  gather- 
ing to  himself,  his  own  solitary  state  seemed  doubly 
forlorn. 

Now  it  was  next  to  the  last  day.  Mid-afternoon 
found  him  pacing  up  and  down  his  room.  He  could 
see  the  face  of  Peire  Vidal  smiling  and  triumphant; 
and  the  vision  of  his  success  filled  Raimbaut's  heart 
with  bitterness.  He  would  gladly  risk  his  life  to 
meet  his  rival  at  Le  Puy.  In  desperation  he  climbed 
into  the  embrasure,  and  leaned  out  as  far  as  he  was 
able.  At  this  angle  he  discovered,  three  spear- 
lengths  beneath  him,  a  window  like  his  own.  Was  it 
possible  for  him  to  enter  this  embrasure,  pass  through 
the  castle,  and  escape?  With  a  good  rope  it  would  be 
a  fair  hazard.  He  looked  about,  as  he  had  done  a 
hundred  times  before.  There  were  no  coverings  on 
his  bed  which  could  be  torn  into  strips.  He  had  seen 
ropes  made  of  straw  for  the  farmer's  use,  and  for 
several  minutes  he  struggled  in  a  foolish  attempt  to 
plait  the  few  wisps  on  which  he  slept.  He  had 

317 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

nothing  but  his  baldric  and  his  lute-strap.  He 
fastened  them  together  and  found  he  had  a  strong 
cord,  which  he  tied  firmly  to  the  bar  at  the  window, 
where  it  dangled,  short  and  useless.  He  seized  his 
mantle,  and  when  he  found  he  could  not  tear  it  with 
his  fingers,  he  worried  it  with  his  teeth  until  the 
threads  started;  then  he  ripped  the  garment  into  wide 
shreds.  These  he  tied  carefully  together  and  fastened 
to  the  end  of  the  baldric.  His  heart  sank  within  him 
when  he  discovered  that  his  cord  was  still  far  too  short. 

Again  he  searched  the  room.  Was  there  nothing 
left?  Despair  was  stealing  over  him  when  he  gave 
a  sudden  cry  of  joy,  and,  as  a  drowning  man  grasps 
at  an  oar,  seized  the  pouch  and  spread  out  the  con- 
tents before  him.  The  two  largest  strings  he  felt 
fairly  confident  of,  and  followed  with  the  next  two, 
over  which  he  shook  his  head  in  doubt.  The  last 
four  seemed  pitifully  small  and  weak,  but  he  took  one 
to  fasten  his  lute  to  his  shoulder,  and  putting  the 
remaining  three  together,  found  that  his  cord  was 
just  long  enough.  He  drew  it  up  through  the  win- 
dow, and,  pulling  against  it  with  all  his  strength, 
tested  every  part.  So  far  as  he  could  discover,  it  was 
sufficient  for  his  weight. 

Felipe  would  soon  awake  from  his  siesta.  There 
was  not  a  minute  to  lose.  He  crept  through  the 
window,  twisted  the  cord  around  his  thigh,  dangled 
for  a  moment,  and  then  inch  by  inch  slid  down  the 
lichen-covered  wall.  His  feet  reached  the  ledge  of 
the  window,  his  hands  grasped  the  rusty  bar. 


INCH  BY  INCH  SLID  DOWN  THE  LICHEN-COVERED  WALL 


THE  BIRD  CAGE 

Now  for  the  first  time  there  came  to  him  a  full 
sense  of  his  danger,  and  of  the  fearful  depth  over 
which  he  had  hung.  The  slender  cord,  made  tense 
by  his  weight,  had  vibrated  and  sounded  as  if  played 
upon  by  unseen  hands.  For  an  instant  he  crouched 
in  the  embrasure  before  he  obtained  complete  com- 
mand of  himself. 

He  peered  inside.  On  the  .couch  in  the  corner  was 
stretched  the  gross  form  of  his  jailer,  bound  in  slum- 
ber. He  lay  on  his  back,  his  tunic  open  at  the 
throat.  By  his  side,  within  reach,  were  his  dagger 
and  a  bunch  of  keys.  Even  as  Raimbaut  looked, 
the  red  eyes  opened.  As  the  intruder  crept  through 
the  window  and  sprang  for  the  dagger,  the  half-con- 
scious Spaniard  threw  himself  on  the  floor,  strug- 
gling fiercely  to  reach  the  ugly  weapon,  already  in 
Raimbaut's  hand.  Crushed  by  the  weight  of  his 
antagonist,  whose  grip  was  on  his  throat,  Raimbaut 
plunged  the  long  blade  again  and  again,  until  Felipe's 
fingers  loosened  and  with  one  deep  groan  he  rolled 
back  on  the  floor. 

For  a  moment  only  Raimbaut  watched  the  blood 
flow  from  the  hairy  breast,  and  the  eyes  grow  fixed 
in  death.  He  looked  about  the  room,  and,  dis- 
covering his  helmet  and  hauberk  hanging  in  the  cor- 
ner, he  armed  himself  hastily,  and  felt  a  thrill  of  joy 
as  he  grasped  again  his  own  Toledo  blade.  He  could 
find  no  trace  of  the  Book  of  Hours,  though  he  searched 
everywhere,  examining  even  the  dead  body  of  his 
jailer. 

319 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Then  he  seized  the  bunch  of  keys  and  opened  the 
door.  There  was  no  sound.  He  crept  down  the 
stairs,  threw  back  the  bolts  and  stole  into  the  court- 
yard, meeting  no  one.  He  hurried  to  the  stables  and 
found,  to  his  delight,  that  the  red  roan  was  quietly 
feeding  in  his  stall.  He  buckled  the  saddle  with  eager 
fingers  and  led  the  horse  over  the  rattling  flags  to  the 
outer  gate.  Here  he  selected  the  largest  key,  which 
proved  the  right  one.  In  another  instant  Raimbaut 
found  himself  riding  swiftly  northward  toward  Le 
Puy.  He  was  free  at  last! 


•CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  GOLDEN   SPARROW-HAWK 

WHEN  Jacques  appeared  at  Narbonne  on  the  day 
after  his  departure  from  Cabaret  with  his  master,  he 
was  bruised  and  blood-stained.  In  his  search  for 
the  pack-horse  in  the  rain,  he  had  fallen  over  the 
rocks  into  a  little  ravine,  where  he  had  lain  weak  and 
half-stunned  until  dawn.  Finding  no  trace  of  Raim- 
baut,  and  deciding  that  he  had  gone  on  to  Narbonne, 
thither  he  bent  his  steps. 

When  he  told  his  story  to  Ermengarda,  she 
was  at  first  filled  with  joy  to  learn  that  Raim- 
baut  had  left  Cabaret;  but  when  time  went  by 
and  he  did  not  make  his  appearance,  she  became 
more  and  more  anxious  concerning  his  fate.  The 
news  of  Loba's  death  was  a  shock  to  her,  and 
seemed  ominous  of  some  sad  fate  for  Raimbaut. 
Under  Ermengarda's  direction,  every  crevice  of  the 
rocks  was  searched  where  it  was  possible  for  Raimbaut 
to  have  fallen,  but  not  the  least  sign  of  him  was 
discovered. 

As  the  days  and  the  weeks  passed  there  seemed 
little  ground  for  hope.  But,  like  Jacques,  she  would 
never  admit  even  to  herself  that  Raimbaut  was  dead. 
No  matter  how  great  her  doubt,  she  always  insisted 
that  he  would  appear  at  Le  Puy:  with  every  accent 
of  conviction  she  would  declare,  — 

321 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  None  other  than  he  shall  win  the  Golden  Spar- 
row-Hawk!  " 

Yet  Ermengarda  felt  very  old  and  weary  when  she 
arrived  at  the  city  of  the  festival  after  her  long  jour- 
ney. She  ascended  at  once  the  high  steps  to  the 
great  cathedral,  making  her  way  through  the  kneel- 
ing crowd  with  scant  consideration  for  those  whose 
devotion  she  disturbed. 

Nostre  Dame  was  thronged  with  the  flower  of 
Provence,  listening  respectfully  as  the  Bishop  in- 
veighed against  the  luxury  and  sinfulness  of  the  age. 
The  Countess  heard  little  of  the  sermon,  for  she  spent 
her  time  in  looking  eagerly  about  in  search  of  Raim- 
baut.  Finding  him  not,  she  had  no  heart  to  mingle 
in  the  careless  crowd  after  service,  and,  slipping  out, 
she  sought  her  room  at  the  castle. 

In  the  annals  of  the  festival  of  the  Sparrow-Hawk 
there  was  no  year  quite  equal  to  that  of  the  Count  of 
Polignac.  Heraclius,  King  of  the  Mountains,  as  he 
loved  to  be  called,  could  not  tell  the  difference  be- 
tween a  chanson  and  a  servente.  His  purse  was  full, 
however,  and  all  were  pleased  to  have  him  patron  of 
the  great  fair;  for  they  knew  there  would  be  no  limit 
either  to  the  extravagance  of  his  entertainment,  or 
the  richness  of  his  gifts.  The  fact  that  his  wealth 
was  spoil  from  his  weaker  neighbors,  or  plunder  from 
the  Abbeys,  was  not  considered. 

From  the  very  beginning  the  fates  were  propitious. 
The  sun  laughed  by  day,  the  moon  smiled  at  night. 
Song,  feasting  and  gallantry  filled  the  hours.  The 

322 


THE  GOLDEN  SPARROW-HAWK 

Bishop  in  his  palace  at  Le  Puy,  and  the  Count  in  his 
castle  at  Polignac,  vied  with  each  other  in  the  lavish- 
ness  of  their  hospitality.  There  was  first  a  great 
popular  pilgrimage  to  Mount  Anis.  Thereafter,  even 
the  most  devout  gave  free  rein  to  the  pursuit  of 
pleasure.  But  no  matter  how  late  the  revelry,  or 
how  deep  the  potations  of  the  evening,  each  after- 
noon found  all  the  world  at  the  foot  of  Saint  Michael's 
rock,  which  rose  like  a  spearhead  from  the  level  plain. 

The  platform  was  placed  close  to  the  precipice, 
which  acted  as  a  giant  sounding-board,  and  made  the 
faintest  note  distinguishable.  On  that  gently  rising 
ground,  every  one  in  the  audience  had  an  uninter- 
rupted view.  The  left  of  the  stage  was  occupied  by 
the  nobility  of  Provence.  At  the  right  were  seated 
the  young  troubadours  who  had  come  from  far  and 
near:  all  hopeful  of  winning  applause,  not  a  few 
ambitious  for  the  Golden-Hawk  itself. 

In  the  centre  of  the  platform  were  placed  the 
judges;  Heraclius,  as  patron  of  the  festival,  being 
raised  on  a  little  dais.  The  Count  of  Ventadorn  sat 
on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  was  Martin,  the  jolly 
Monk  of  Montaudon.  Near  him  stood  the  perch 
to  which  clung  the  live  Sparrow-Hawk,  hooded  and 
motionless.  The  monk  was  a  permanent  judge,  and 
the  special  custodian  of  the  Hawk.  The  Count  of 
Ventadorn  had  officiated  before,  but  it  was  a  new 
experience  for  Heraclius.  He  looked  uncomfortable 
enough  in  his  heavy  hauberk,  which  he  boasted  was 
never  laid  aside  except  for  bed.  He  was  deadly  tired 

323 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

of  listening  to  so  many  songs.  In  spite  of  the  honor, 
he  was  beginning  to  wish  himself  in  the  saddle  again, 
and  he  cast  many  glances  at  a  very  pretty  chatelaine 
with  whom  he  had  a  little  affair,  and  who  smiled  at 
him  seductively  from  one  of  the  high  seats. 

To  Ermengarda  it  had  been  a  week  full  of  anxiety 
and  hope  deferred.  Day  after  day  she  had  prayed 
for  Raimbaut's  safe  arrival,  and  day  after  day  she  had 
been  disappointed.  From  the  first  his  name  had  been 
coupled  with  that  of  Peire  Vidal:  few  doubted  that 
one  or  the  other  would  win  the  Golden  Sparrow- 
Hawk,  and  many  were  willing  to  lay  wagers  of  value. 
Count  Barral  accepted  every  challenge,  there  being 
no  limit  to  his  confidence  in  Peire's  success.  Another 
great  admirer  of  Peire  was  Guilhem  of  Courthezon. 
His  handsome  face  and  rich  costume  were  much  in 
evidence,  and  many  were  the  smiles  of  buxom 
chatelaines  with  marriageable  daughters  who  beamed 
on  him,  for  Guilhem  was  in  every  way  desirable  as  a 
husband. 

The  adherents  of  Raimbaut  inquired  frequently 
concerning  him.  Raimon  and  Bernart  grew  more 
and  more  anxious  as  time  went  on.  The  Countess 
invariably  declared  that  Raimbaut  was  sure  to  arrive 
before  the  end  of  the  week.  By  constant  repetition 
she  became  quite  convinced  of  the  truth  of  her  state- 
ment; but  the  last  morning  dawned,  and  hope  had 
almost  left  her. 

As  she  took  her  place  on  the  platform,  she  could 
have  told  but  little  of  the  occurrences  of  the  previous 

324 


THE  GOLDEN  SPARROW-HAWK 

days.  She  knew  that  of  the  older  troubadours 
Bertrand,  Rogier,  and  Bernart  had  sung,  and  that  the 
last  had  won  the  most  favor.  Borneil,  as  usual,  had 
presented  his  song  through  his  joglar.  She  remem- 
bered that  Peire  Raimon  was  as  nervous  as  ever,  and 
that  Daniel's  servente  had  lost  half  its  value  because 
of  the  rough  voice  of  the  singer. 

The  greatest  measure  of  success,  so  far,  had  come  to 
Arnaut  de  Maruelh,  who  had  won  the  Sparrow-Hawk 
the  previous  year.  He  was  now  the  accepted  trouba- 
dour of  Alazais,  who  had  succeeded  in  interesting  her 
stern  husband  in  the  Gay  Science,  and  their  little 
court  at  Beziers  was  already  famous  for  its  patronage. 

When  Arnaut  sang  his  beautiful  chanson,  "  As 
swim  the  fish  in  waters  clear  and  ample,"  Ermengarda 
forgot  her  trouble  for  the  moment  and  joined  in  the 
hearty  applause.  The  congratulations  were  very 
evenly  divided  between  the  troubadour  and  the  lady 
whom  he  praised,  and  he  received  a  glance  from 
Alazais  which  raised  him  to  the  seventh  heaven  of 
happiness. 

Of  the  younger  troubadours,  most  of  whom  were 
quite  unknown  to  Ermengarda,  she  remembered  only 
Pons  of  Chapteuil  and  Miraval.  The  latter  had 
sung  smoothly  and  well,  but  to  Pons  came  the  greater 
favor,  for  his  castle  was  only  a  few  miles  away  on  the 
Black  Mountain,  and  he  received  the  support  of 
many  neighbors  and  friends. 

All  this  time  the  audience  was  growing  impatient 
to  hear  Vidal  and  Raimbaut.  Count  Barral,  how- 

325 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

ever,  would  not  allow  Peire  to  sing  yet,  for  he  did  not 
wish  to  weaken  the  impression  his  favorite  might 
make,  by  allowing  Raimbaut's  appearance  later  on. 

The  sun  was  approaching  the  western  hills,  shining 
brightly  on  the  audience  scattered  about  the  green 
plain,  lighting  up  the  faces  of  those  on  the  platform, 
and  being  reflected  from  the  roof  of  the  miniature 
church  of  Saint  Michael  which  crowned  the  summit 
of  the  rock. 

In  another  hour  the  festival  would  be  over,  and 
the  image  of  the  Golden-Hawk,  which  Heraclius  held 
in  his  hand,  would  be  given  to  the  most  deserving. 
In  the  pauses  between  the  songs,  the  audience  became 
insistent  in  their  cries  of  "  Peire!  "  and  "  Raimbaut!  " 
This  was  maddening  to  Peire,  anxious  to  show  him- 
self, and  eager  for  applause.  It  was  all  Barral  could 
do  to  keep  him  silent,  as  he  strained  at  the  leash  like 
a  hound  who  hears  the  sound  of  the  horn. 

At  last  the  long  list  of  singers  seemed  to  be  ex- 
hausted, and  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  discon- 
tented murmur  of  the  crowd  and  shouts  of,  — "  Where 
is  Raimbaut  of  Vacqueiras?  "  —  "  Let  us  hear  the 
nightingale  of  Marseille!  " 

Barral  realized  that  the  right  moment  had  arrived. 
No  sooner  had  he  given  the  word,  than  Peire  tripped 
on  to  the  stage,  bowing  and  smiling  to  right  and  left. 
He  was  followed  by  no  less  than  three  joglars  with 
instruments.  The  applause  that  greeted  him  was  as 
honey  to  his  soul.  A  little  man  with  olive  face,  bright 
black  eyes,  and  a  pointed  beard,  he  wore  a  costume 

326 


THE  GOLDEN   SPARROW-HAWK 

over-elaborate;  for  nothing  could  restrain  his  bour- 
geois love  of  bright  colors.  With  his  first  note, 
however,  every  one  forgot  that  he  was  small  and  vain 
and  foolish.  He  carolled  like  a  lark,  his  voice  mount- 
ing higher  and  higher  until  it  seemed  to  disappear  in 
the  clouds  above  them.  No  one  was  in  doubt  as  to 
the  lady  of  his  praise,  for  he  cast  languishing  glances 
at  the  beautiful  Countess  of  Marseille  as  he  sang,  — 

"I  stand  like  one  who,  dazzled  by  the  light, 
Stares  at  a  casement  radiant  with  the  west; 
The  thought  of  you  brings  tumult  to  my  breast, 
My  senses  swoon  and  Wisdom  takes  to  flight. 
Love  with  his  myrtle  branches  buffets  me 
Because  I  once,  bending  a  reverent  knee, 
Stole  from  my  lady's  lips  one  blissful  kiss;  — 
Alas  for  those  who  such  a  rapture  miss!" 

Peire  had  just  been  welcomed  back  to  Marseille, 
after  a  month's  banishment  for  kissing  the  sleeping 
Countess,  and  only  the  repeated  solicitations  of  Bar- 
ral  himself  had  availed  with  the  indignant  lady. 
This  story,  known  to  all,  added  a  double  zest  to  the 
song. 

When  Peire  had  finished,  Heraclius  tossed  a  bag  of 
gold  at  his  feet,  and  the  audience  applauded  with 
the  utmost  enthusiasm.  Those  who  had  appeared 
before  suffered  total  eclipse.  There  were  cries  of 
"  More!  More!  "  Peire,  nothing  loath,  was  about 
to  sing  again,  but  was  stopped  by  the  Monk  of 
Montaudon,  who  never  failed  to  enforce  his  edict  of  a 
single  lyric. 

327 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

When  the  excitement  over  Vidal's  appearance  had 
sufficiently  subsided,  a  pale-faced  youth  sang  a 
wretched  song  with  a  worse  manner.  At  this  the 
more  impatient  of  the  audience  began  to  move 
uneasily  on  their  seats.  Ermengarda  and  Jacques 
lost  their  last  ray  of  hope.  The  latter,  at  the  risk 
of  life  and  limb,  had  climbed  each  day  to  a  little  shelf 
of  rock  which  he  had  no  difficulty  in  monopolizing, 
for  no  one  else  was  able  to  reach  it.  From  this  place 
of  vantage  he  could  see  all  that  occurred  on  the 
platform,  yet  survey  also  the  broad  road  that  led 
through  the  town.  Again  and  again  during  the  after- 
noon Ermengarda  found  herself  watching  Jacques' 
melancholy  figure,  for  she  knew  that  the  joglar's 
keen  eye  would  be  the  first  to  discover  his  mas- 
ter, should  Providence  permit  the  latter  to  reach 
Le  Puy. 

The  Countess  was  suddenly  startled  by  a  cry,  and 
saw  Jacques  slide  from  his  high  seat  as  if  struck  by 
lightning.  In  another  instant  a  dust-stained  horse- 
man came  spurring  through  the  crowd  on  a  destrier 
which  stumbled  and  fell  exhausted  in  front  of  the 
platform.  The  rider  staggered  from  the  saddle, 
climbed  the  steps,  and  doffing  his  helmet,  revealed 
the  pale  face  of  Raimbaut.  He  wore  a  hauberk; 
over  his  shoulder  dangled  his  lute.  Bernart  sprang 
forward  and  seized  him  in  his  arms.  Raimon  em- 
braced him  with  hardly  less  enthusiasm.  From  lip 
to  lip  the  news  spread  that  at  last  Raimbaut  had 
arrived:  Raimbaut  the  son  of  Peirol,  the  pupil  of 

328 


THE  GOLDEN   SPARROW-HAWK 

Bernart,  the  protege  of  Raimon  and  Ermengarda; 
Raimbaut  who  had  overthrown  Berguedan  in  the 
lists;  Raimbaut  whom  Alazais  and  Loba  had  loved. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  with  his  hand  clasped  in 
Bernart's,  and  then  he  looked  eagerly  about  him  in 
search  of  a  laughing  face  framed  by  auburn  braids. 
Loba  was  not  at  Le  Puy?  He  wondered  why.  Then 
he  discovered  Ermengarda's  plain  features,  drawn 
and  haggard  with  excitement.  He  made  his  way  to 
her,  and,  falling  on  his  knee,  kissed  her  hand.  It  was 
a  pretty  sight;  and  many  a  young  beauty  was  jealous 
of  the  homely  chatelaine. 

"  I  almost  gave  up  hope,"  declared  Ermengarda. 
"  I  pray  you  fail  me  not  now,  for  I  would  not  have 
the  Golden  Sparrow-Hawk  won  by  a  puppet.  Show 
them  how  a  real  man  can  sing." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  Raimbaut  answered.  "  But 
I  must  sit  here  a  moment  to  get  my  breath,  for  I 
have  ridden  at  speed  for  a  night  and  a  day." 

Up  to  this  time  every  singer  had  appeared  clad 
in  what  he  considered  his  most  attractive  costume. 
Most  of  them  had  received  every  assistance  that 
could  be  gained  from  the  tailor  and  the  hair-dresser, 
and  some,  at  least,  had  not  disdained  those  little 
accessories  which  give  bloom  to  the  complexion  and 
a  proper  curve  to  the  eyebrow. 

If  Raimbaut  had  studied  for  effect,  he  could  not 
have  chosen  better  than  to  appear,  as  he  did,  in  a 
costume  the  very  color  of  which  was  overlaid  by  the 
dust  of  the  highway.  The  prison  pallor  only  added 

329 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

to  the  strength  and  beauty  of  his  face.     Yes,  it  was  a 
real  man  who  took  his  place  there  in  the  sunlight. 

Next  to  Ermengarda  sat  an  old  baron  bronzed  by 
the  suns  of  Palestine. 

"  What  a  knight  this  one  would  make!  "  said  he, 
turning  to  the  Countess. 

Beyond    him   was   a   handsome   chatelaine,    who 
replied,  — 

"  A  knight  indeed,  but  it  would  be  a  pity  to  spoil 
a  lover  so  debonair." 

It  was  not  Raimbaut's  handsome  face,  his  well- 
knit  figure,  the  poise  of  his  head,  or  his  quiet  smile, 
which  won  the  audience  before  he  sang  a  note.  There 
was  an  inherent  charm  that  caught  and  held  the  heart 
of  every  one  who  saw  him  that  day  at  Le  Puy.  He 
seemed  to  take  every  one  into  his  confidence,  as  he 
looked  about,  and  won  friends  with  every  glance.  He 
had  no  joglar:  he  tuned  his  lute  carefully,  touching 
it  with  fingers  that  lingered  lovingly  on  every  string. 
Then  there  came  a  great  silence,  and  he  sang  the 
song  that  had  come  to  him  in  prison,  the  song  which 
was  to  make  him  famous  throughout  Languedoc :  — 

"O  Life,  I  love  you;  for  to  me  you  bring 
The  purple  dawn,  the  first  soft  breath  of  spring, 
The  fragrance  of  the  hedgerow-hidden  flowers, 
The  lark's  clear  chanson,  and  the  April  showers;  — 
When  in  the  west  Day  drops  her  golden  ring, 
The  ardent  nightingale  begins  to  sing; 
The  harvest  moon  shines  through  the  silent  hours 
And  Love  bums  brightest  when  the  darkness  lowers; 
O  Life,  I  love  you! 

330 


THE  GOLDEN  SPARROW-HAWK 

"You  give  me  strength  to  don  my  armor  bright: 
You  valor  bring;  from  you  I  gain  the  might 
To  poise  a  lance,  and  with  tall  pennon  flying, 
To  wield  my  sword,  the  fear  of  death  defying;  — 
When  Count  and  Chatelaine  with  maid  and  knight 
Are  gathered  'neath  the  torches'  crimson  light, 
You  bid  me  sing,  to  noble  words  applying 
The  lute's  soft  notes,  now  jocund  and  now  sighing;  — 
O  Life,  I  love  you! 

"I  bless  you  for  this  land;  't  is  here  alone 
The  Sun  and  Wind  rule  from  an  equal  throne;  — 
Here  nightingale  and  meadow-lark  may  hover 
O'er  rose  and  primrose,  hidden  in  the  clover;  — 
Here  joy  and  valor,  song  and  love  have  thrown 
A  spell  where'er  the  wandering  winds  have  blown; 
Here  every  peering  moonbeam  can  discover 
A  gracious  lady,  and  her  loyal  lover;  — 
O  Life,  I  love  you! 

"Wind  of  Provence!     O  waft  me  to  the  place 
Where  dwells  my  lady  with  the  blissful  face, 
Sun  of  Provence!     O  guide  me  with  your  beaming 
To  Perfect  Love  of  which  my  heart  is  dreaming;  — 
OLife,  I  love  you!" 

There  was  a  little  catch  of  the  breath  as  he  began, 
"  O  Life,  I  love  you!  "  and  he  paused  after  the  words 
as  if  his  emotion  were  too  strong  for  utterance.  Every 
tone  of  his  voice  was  full  of  gratitude  and  the  joy 
of  life.  Many  were  made  aware  that  the  man  who 
stood  before  them,  so  pale  and  passionate,  had  been 
through  some  experience  which  brought  him  face  to 
face  with  death. 

Raimbaut  mastered  himself  and  sang  with  no  hint 
of  doubt  or  uncertainty,  the  artist  dominating  him. 

331 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

His  voice  lacked  the  range  of  Peire  Vidal's,  yet  it  was 
so  rich  and  full  of  feeling  that  no  one  thought  of  it 
as  a  mere  voice;  no  one  questioned  its  compass  or 
its  quality.  When  he  finished,  there  followed  the 
praise  of  utter  silence.  Then  there  came  a  cry,  and 
like  a  mighty  storm  the  applause  swept  over  the 
whole  great  audience.  Those  on  the  platform  vied 
with  the  multitude  on  the  plain. 

When  Raimbaut  made  his  way  quietly  to  his  seat, 
the  Lady  Ermengarda  put  her  arm  around  his  neck 
and  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 

The  song  appealed  to  the  soul  of  every  listener. 
The  joy  of  life,  valor,  song,  love,  but  more  than  all 
else,  the  praise  of  Provence,  won  their  hearts. 
Although  the  judgment  of  the  audience  was  unmis- 
takable, the  decision  of  the  judges  was  impatiently 
awaited.  Ermengarda,  remembering  Heraclius'  dis- 
like for  Raimbaut,  long  ago  at  Toulouse,  had  her  mis- 
givings; but  the  Count  of  Polignac  had  been  quite 
won  over  by  the  sight  of  a  troubadour  in  armor,  and 
he  conferred  eagerly  with  his  two  companions.  It 
was  with  difficulty  that  Heraclius  made  himself 
heard  in  a  short  speech  plainly  composed  by  some 
one  else,  and  laboriously  committed  to  memory. 
The  ovation  exceeded  all  bounds  when  he  ended  by 
announcing  the  name,  —  "Raimbaut  of  Vacqueiras." 

The  sun  was  sending  its  last  level  beams  across  the 
plain  when  the  chain  was  thrown  over  Raimbaut's 
head,  and  the  Golden  Sparrow-Hawk,  of  which  he 
had  dreamed  so  long,  dangled  from  his  neck. 

332 


THE  GOLDEN   SPARROW-HAWK 

In  spite  of  his  great  losses  and  bitter  disappoint- 
ment, Count  Barral  was  the  first  to  present  his  con- 
gratulations. Peire  Vidal,  however,  was  furious. 
He  could  not  believe  his  ears ;  but  when  his  eyes  con- 
firmed the  fact  that  he  had  lost  the  prize  of  which 
he  felt  so  certain,  his  rage  knew  no  bounds.  He 
inveighed  against  the  judges  in  a  voice  now  strident, 
now  querulous,  and  at  last  broke  into  a  flood  of  tears. 
Indeed,  thanks  only  to  infinite  patience  and  forbear- 
ance, did  Raimbaut  succeed  in  avoiding  a  quarrel 
with  his  angry  rival. 

Bernart's  face  beamed  with  joy.  He  compared  the 
little  image,  worn  smooth  by  time,  which  had  hung 
about  his  neck  for  so  many  years,  with  the  new 
Sparrow-Hawk  of  which  Raimbaut  had  just  gained 
possession,  every  line  of  which  showed  the  fresh  cut 
of  the  carver's  tool.  Count  Raimon  was  benevolence 
itself,  as  he  said,  — 

"  I  am  selfish  enough  to  claim  that  we  taught  you 
something  at  Toulouse,  in  spite  of  my  Lady  Ermen- 
garda's  monopoly  of  you." 

Alazais  was  a  trifle  conscious,  but  gave  Raimbaut 
a  cool  little  hand  and  complimented  him  very  prettily 
on  his  success. 

"  God  knows,"  he  replied,  "  that  I  should  not  wear 
this  Golden-Hawk  but  for  your  old  kindness  and  pa- 
tience. Believe  me  when  I  say  I  am  not  ungrateful." 

He  had  scarcely  finished  when  he  received  a  cheery 
buffet  between  the  shoulders  and  turned  to  face  the 
Monk  of  Montaudon. 

333 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

"  Well,  my  lad,"  he  cried  out,  "  we  know  that  you 
can  fight  and  are  certain  that  you  can  sing,  but 
to-night  we  shall  discover  how  many  flagons  of  wine 
you  can  empty  and  say  a  Pater  Noster  without  a 
hiccough." 

The  evening  was  spent  at  Polignac;  the  feast 
ended  not  until  the  dawn  showed  gray  at  the  castle 
windows,  and  changed  the  light  of  the  torches  to  a 
sickly  yellow. 

But  Raimbaut  was  not  at  the  feast.  When  the 
story  of  Loba's  death  was  told  him  by  Ermengarda, 
the  joy  of  his  triumph  turned  to  ashes.  He  left  the 
hall  without  a  word,  climbed  a  turret  of  the  castle, 
and  all  night  long  stood  looking  southward  toward 
the  towers  of  Cabaret.  The  memory  of  the  woman 
whose  passion  was  too  deep  for  her  to  accept  a  half- 
love  in  return,  filled  his  heart  with  infinite  sadness, 
bitter  self-reproach.  Should  he  ever  find  so  perfect 
a  love  again? 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE    BRIDGE    OF    BENIZET 

THE  morrow  brought  rich  gifts  to  Raimbaut.  He 
was  overwhelmed  with  invitations.  The  winner  of 
the  Sparrow-Hawk  was  welcome  to  every  castle  in 
Provence.  Sweet  words  and  bright  smiles  greeted 
him  on  all  sides,  and  memories  of  Loba  gave  him,  an 
air  of  melancholy  which  made  him  doubly  interest- 
ing. One  only  of  all  the  guests  at  Polignac  seemed 
unfriendly:  this  was  none  other  than  Guilhem  of 
Courthezon.  He  was  well-grown,  well-mannered, 
handsome  as  Adonis.  He  showed  his  mocking  spirit 
to  Raimbaut  alone,  whose  triumph  he  belittled;  but 
he  soon  received  a  merited  rebuff  which  deterred  him 
from  any  open  exhibition  of  dislike. 

One  evening,  when  Raimbaut  was  in  the  middle 
of  his  song,  Guilhem  sent  his  helmet  clattering  to  the 
floor.  Although  he  apologized  profusely,  and  ex- 
plained that  it  was  an  accident  which  he  greatly 
regretted,  the  innumerable  frowns  and  black  looks 
bestowed  upon  him  were  a  warning  which  he  knew 
he  could  not  ignore. 

Raimbaut  charmed  every  one  by  the  modest  way 
in  which  he  bore  the  honors  heaped  upon  him,  and 
by  his  generosity  made  friends  with  all  the  trouba- 
dours. In  spite  of  the  rivalry  between  them,  a  cer- 
tain good  fellowship  allied  them  against  the  rich 

335 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

nobles  to  whom  they  looked  for  patronage.  News 
of  any  ill  treatment,  or  of  parsimony,  ran  from  lip  to 
lip,  until  the  offender  found  his  castle  avoided,  and 
was  deprived  of  the  entertainment  which  he  best 
loved. 

Wherever  Raimbaut  went  he  was  received  with 
enthusiasm.  His  songs  were  compared  with  those 
of  Bernart,  Borneil,  and  Daniel;  and  however  they 
might  be  criticised  on  the  parchment,  yet  as  sung 
by  himself  they  seemed  perfection.  His  resentment 
against  Berguedan  was  too  deep  to  find  expression. 
He  told  no  one  the  details  of  his  experience  in  the 
little  tower  among  the  rocks,  but  he  resolved  that  he 
would  cut  his  enemy's  career  short  the  moment  he 
could  reach  him.  The  Spaniard,  however,  seemed 
to  have  dropped  out  of  existence ;  no  matter  where  he 
inquired,  Raimbaut  could  not  obtain  the  least  clue 
to  his  whereabouts. 

On  all  sides  it  was  expected  that  Raimbaut  would 
choose  some  patroness  to  whom  he  could  dedicate 
himself,  and  there  were  few  chatelaines  or  demoiselles 
unwilling  to  become  his  lady  of  song.  But  he  went 
his  way,  and  sang  with  a  catholic  devotion  for  all. 
He  was  protected  from  dissipation  and  low  intrigues 
by  the  love  of  his  art,  and  applied  himself  to  the  per- 
fection of  his  powers,  giving  his  mornings  either  to 
play  in  the  tennis-court,  or  to  rides  far  afield  with 
falcon  on  wrist.  He  loved  the  wandering  life,  and 
often  deserted  the  castle  for  the  winding  road.  He 
would  linger  for  days  together  in  some  wood-cutter's 

336 


THE  BRIDGE  OF  BENIZET 

cottage,  or  sleep  in  the  open  with  no  curtain  between 
himself  and  the  sky.  At  these  times  there  came 
to  him  the  old  restless  dream  of  a  Perfect  Love,  for 
the  hope  of  his  childhood  stirred  in  his  heart.  He 
prayed  for  Loba's  eternal  rest,  with  tears. 

It  was  early  autumn  when  Raimbaut  reached 
Cavaillon.  Only  a  day's  journey  away,  he  despatched 
Jacques  with  instructions  to  obtain  from  Anselme  full 
information  concerning  the  condition  of  affairs  at 
Vacqueiras  and  Courthezon. 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  Raimbaut  arrived  at  a  little 
inn  at  Avignon,  which  was  the  appointed  rendezvous. 
Here  he  was  pleased  to  find,  not  only  Jacques,  but 
Anselme  also.  The  holy  priest's  hair  had  become  as 
white  as  snow,  but  his  eyes  were  unchanged.  Raim- 
baut looked  into  them  with  affection,  and  fell  on  his 
knees  to  receive  a  blessing  from  a  voice  tremulous 
with  emotion.  Anselme  begged  him  again  not  to  visit 
Vacqueiras.  He  warned  him  that  it  was  certain  to 
complicate  matters  for  Peirol,  who  had  been  allowed 
by  his  over-lord  to  live  in  peace. 

"  Moreover,"  he  continued,  "  I  must  tell  you  that 
although  I  have  no  hope  that  your  father  will  ever  be 
his  old  self  again,  he  is  growing  less  moody  and  more 
intelligent.  I  fear  that  the  excitement  of  your  visit 
might  stop  this  slow  improvement  and  result  in  per- 
manent injury." 

Anselme  brought  a  message  of  love  from  Michonne. 
From  Thibaud  there  was  no  word,  for  the  old  man-at- 
arms  had  at  last  been  cut  down  by  the  sword  of 

337 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

death.  Raimbaut  listened  patiently  to  all  the  priest 
told  him,  and  agreed  reluctantly  that  it  was  impos- 
sible for  him  to  return  to  the  brown  castle. 

It  was  almost  noon  when  they  decided  to  seek 
out  Benizet,  who,  as  they  learned,  could  be  found  at 
work  at  the  bridge.  They  descended  the  steep  street 
slowly,  for  Anselme  had  grown  feeble,  and,  passing 
through  the  gate,  found  themselves  surrounded  by  a 
bustling  hive  of  men,  who  were  moving  in  and  out  of 
a  forest  of  stones. 

The  visitors  made  their  way  with  some  difficulty 
to  the  bridge,  of  which  three  arches  were  completed. 
Raimbaut  looked  with  awe  at  the  mighty  structure, 
the  like  of  which  he  had  never  seen.  It  seemed  as 
if  nothing  less  than  a  miracle  could  have  accom- 
plished so  great  a  task.  He  required  no  guide  to  find 
Benizet,  for  he  could  be  plainly  seen  on  a  pile  of  stones 
at  the  far  end  of  the  bridge,  overlooking  the  rushing 
water.  His  head  was  bare,  his  robe  girt  high  at  the 
waist;  he  appeared  a  veritable  Samson  as  he  gave 
orders  with  sonorous  voice,  and  pointed  about  him 
with  a  huge  finger. 

Benizet  first  recognized  Anselme,  and,  leaping  from 
his  high  perch,  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  old 
priest  murmuring,  — 

"  Give  me  your  blessing!  " 

As  he  caught  sight  of  Raimbaut,  his  red  face  fairly 
shone  with  joy. 

"  Truly,"  he  exclaimed,  "  this  is  better  than  the 
festival  when  we  have  completed  an  arch!  Often 

338 


THE  BRIDGE  OF  BENIZET 

have  I  thought  of  you  and  much  has  been  told  me 
of  your  triumphs." 

"  Nay,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  I  have  accomplished 
nothing  to  compare  with  this  achievement  of  yours. 
Benizet,  I  little  thought,  when  you  left  me  with  your 
goatherd's  crook  over  your  shoulder,  that  you  would 
succeed  like  this." 

"  It  is  the  hand  of  God,"  said  Benizet  solemnly. 
41  Yet  all  cannot  be  bridge-builders.  There  is  other 
work  for  consecrated  hearts.  I  hope  you  have  not 
forgotten  this  in  your  prosperity?  Tell  me  some- 
thing of  your  experience." 

"  It  must  be  either  a  very  long  or  a  very  short 
story,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  and  I  choose  the  latter. 
Thanks  to  the  teaching  of  Bernart  and  the  kindness 
of  good  Count  Raimon,  I  so  succeeded  in  perfecting 
myself  in  my  art  that  I  won  the  Golden  Sparrow- 
Hawk  at  Le  Puy.  Since  then,  I  have  gone  from 
castle  to  castle,  receiving  much  favor  and  many 
gifts." 

"  Good!  "  ejaculated  Benizet  with  a  smile,  "  for  I 
well  know  you  will  give  me  a  share  of  your  gains.  I 
relieve,  for  their  souls'  good,  all  those  who  suffer 
under  the  burden  of  riches." 

Raimbaut  laughed. 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  pleased  to  have  a  part  in  your 
grand  work.  If  it  would  not  spoil  my  fingers  for  the 
lute,  I  should  like  nothing  better  than  to  spend  a  few 
days  laboring  here  in  the  sun.  I  learned  how  you 
carried  the  first  stone  to  the  river;  that  tale  has  spread 

339 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

through  all  Provence.  Tell  me  how  you  were  able  to 
raise  such  a  mighty  structure." 

"  It  has  not  been  easy,  Messire  Raimbaut.  We 
have  been  much  troubled  by  the  quicksands,  but  have 
conquered  them.  In  all  things  I  followed  the  guid- 
ance of  the  beloved  saints  of  God,  and  this  bridge  is 
but  a  duplicate  of  the  one  you  saw  me  building  in 
the  brook  at  Vacqueiras.  I  chose  to  form  each  arch 
with  one  hundred  stones  like  that  with  which  I  gained 
the  Bishop's  good-will.  All  praise  belongs  to  blessed 
Saint  Christopher,  my  patron,  for  it  was  he  who 
inspired  my  visions.  I  cannot  carry  our  Lord  Christ 
over  the  river  on  my  back  as  did  he,  but  I  can  build 
a  bridge  over  which  many  devout  Christians  can 
flock  to  Church.  They  have  made  me  Master  of  the 
Order  of  Bridge-Builders,  an  office  for  which  I  am 
not  fit,  yet  I  must  tell  you  that,  since  I  came  to 
Avignon,  I  have  learned  to  read  and  know  sufficient 
Latin  to  follow  the  words  of  the  Holy  Mass  and  the 
Office." 

Benizet  now  discovered  Jacques,  who,  remember- 
ing old  differences  with  the  goatherd,  had  remained 
in  the  background;  but  no  sooner  did  the  latter  set 
eyes  on  the  little  joglar,  than  he  greeted  him  heartily, 
and  gave  him  his  benediction. 

"  How  is  my  good  Jacques?  "  he  asked.  "  We 
were  once  a  trifle  jealous  of  each  other  over  this 
handsome  master  of  yours  whom  you  have  served 
so  well  during  all  these  years.  What  do  you  think 
of  this  bridge  of  mine?  See  how  the  river  rushes 

340 


THE  BRIDGE  OF  BENIZET 

against  it!  See  how  the  Rhone-dragon  casts  his 
arms  up  the  buttress  and  strains  against  the  founda- 
tion! Ah,  Jacques,  what  a  mill  you  could  run  if  you 
had  a  wheel  placed  under  where  we  stand!  " 

The  goatherd  had  a  word  of  encouragement  for  all 
about  him,  and  it  was  wonderful  to  see  the  eagerness 
of  their  service. 

"  Aha!  "  said  he  to  a  rough  peasant  who  staggered 
under  a  block  of  stone,  "  'tis  a  man's  load  you  carry!" 
giving  him  a  buffet  as  he  passed.  A  moment  later 
a  little  chap  shuffled  along,  trembling  from  his 
exertions.  Benizet  gave  him  an  encouraging  smile 
and  said,  "  Well  done,  my  brother!  Be  sure  you 
overtask  not  yourself."  Then  to  Raimbaut  and 
Anselme,  "  Do  you  know  that  I  have  come  to  value 
the  labor  of  the  weak?  God  Almighty  has  given 
me  the  strength  of  three,  but  though  I  could  easily 
carry  yon  fellow  with  the  load  he  bears,  I  doubt 
not  he  will  receive  equal  credit  from  the  righteous 
One  who  understands  all  things." 

He  now  invited  his  guests  to  enter  the  building,  in 
which  were  kept  the  plans  for  the  bridge.  Here  he 
introduced  them  to  an  Italian,  who  was  working  over 
the  drawings  of  a  miniature  church.  Benizet  pointed 
to  this  with  great  pride. 

"  It  is,"  said  he,  "a  chapel  which  I  propose  to 
build  on  this  very  spot.  It  is  to  be  dedicated  to  good 
Saint  Christopher,  and  instead  of  toll,  every  one  who 
passes  will  enter  and  say  a  prayer." 

Learning  that  the  Italian  had  arrived  but  a  few 
341 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

days  before  at  Avignon,  Raimbaut  asked,  as  was  his 
custom,  whether  during  his  travels  he  had  by  any 
chance  heard  of  one  Berguedan,  a  troubadour  of 
Catalonia/ 

"  I  have,"  replied  the  Italian.  "  But  four  weeks 
ago,  when  I  left  Rome,  this  same  Berguedan  was 
paying  court  to  a  young  Countess  whose  husband  was 
in  Palestine.  He  will  regret  his  gallantry  when  the 
Count  returns,  for  the  latter  possesses  a  short  temper 
and  a  long  dagger." 

"  At  last,  at  last,  I  have  a  clue!  "  exclaimed  Raim- 
baut. He  whispered  to  Jacques  so  that  Benizet  and 
Anselme  might  not  hear:  "  We  leave  for  Rome  within 
the  hour." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

SAINT  BIATRITZ 

IT  was  a  gray  Lenten  morning.  As  Raimbaut  and 
Jacques  rode  out  of  Valenza  the  city  was  swallowed 
up  by  the  mists  and  disappeared  as  if  by  enchant- 
ment. The  fog  hung  heavy  above  the  river,  spread 
ghostlike  over  the  plain.  The  whole  world  seemed 
bound  in  a  spell  of  silence.  There  was  something 
uncanny  in  the  clinging  vapor  which  shut  off  all  view 
but  that  of  their  horses'  ears,  pricked  forward  in 
uncertainty,  and  all  sound  but  the  regular  splash  of 
hoofs  in  the  muddy  road. 

For  a  long  time  no  word  was  spoken.  At  last  the 
suspense  was  too  much  for  Jacques. 

"  They  may  praise  the  hills  and  valleys  of  Pied- 
mont if  they  wish,  but  give  me  Provence,  the  '  land 
of  the  wind  and  sun,'  where  the  mist  does  not  blind 
my  eyes,  nor  drop  from  the  end  of  my  nose.  A 
murrain  take  all  Italy,  say  I !  We  have  met  naught 
but  misfortune  since  we  first  set  foot  in  the  country." 

'  You  are  right,"  replied  Raimbaut.  "  We  have 
not  passed  a  happy  year.  Even  the  elements  were 
against  us,  for  we  ran  into  the  storm  when  we  were 
scarce  twelve  hours  from  Marseille,  and  only  by  a 
miracle  did  we  escape  the  sea." 

"  A  bad  omen!  And  when  the  master  of  the  ship 
was  undecided  whether  to  go  on  or  to  return  to 

343 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Marseille  to  replace  his  torn  sails,  it  would  have  been 
well  for  us  had  he  followed  the  latter  course." 

"  Day  after  day  we  had  a  head  wind  which  seemed 
to  warn  us  of  misfortune.  Yes,  Jacques,  ill-luck  has 
never  left  us  since  we  departed  from  Provence. 
God  grant  we  may  soon  set  eyes  again  upon  our  land 
of  the  '  rose  and  nightingale ! ' 

1  Then  there  was  your  fever  at  Rome;  my  fall  in 
Florence,  which  spoiled  my  tumbling  for  a  cursed 
three  months;  and  the  robbery  at  Pavia,  which  left 
us  nothing  but  the  clothes  on  our  backs." 

"  Alas! .  Then  for  the  first  time  since  we  left  Vac- 
queiras  did  my  heart  wholly  fail  me,  as  I  bent  over 
you,  silent  and  blood-stained." 

"  I  was  properly  punished  for  my  clumsiness.  No 
peasant  lad  should  have  failed  at  such  an  easy  feat; 
and  I,  a  joglar  of  renown  through  all  Provence!  " 

"  You  were  weak  for  lack  of  food,  lad,  and  had 
starved  yourself  that  I  might  eat." 

"  Indeed,  no,  my  master!  I  was  growing  far  too 
fat  to  tumble.  'T  is  one  of  the  duties  of  our  craft 
to  fight  against  the  temptations  of  cup  and  platter. 
Faith !  all  days  are  fast-days  with  us,  from  Lady  Day 
to  Candlemas." 

"  Truly,"  laughed  Raimbaut,  looking  affectionately 
at  the  plump  little  fellow  who  rode  by  his  side,  "  I 
should  call  you  a  royal  trencher-man.  See  how  that 
poor  nag  is  bending  beneath  your  weight." 

"  He  has  a  fine  hollow  back  into  which  the  sad- 
dle fits  like  a  nest  in  the  branch  of  a  tree.  He  would 

344 


SAINT   BIATRITZ 

make  a  noble  destrier,  for  once  seated  on  him,  a 
knight  would  be  safe,  no  matter  how  fierce  the  shock ! 
Was  it  not  fortunate  that  the  thieves  failed  to  find 
your  sword  and  armor,  and  despised  your  lute?  " 

"  Yes,  they  did  not  think  it  worth  the  carrying  off, 
though  it  has  not  its  equal  in  this  whole  world.  I 
pray  the  saints  that  if  I  ever  reach  Heaven  I  may  not 
be  forced  to  change  it  for  a  golden  harp." 

"  And  yet  they  left  us  without  a  silver  piece.  It 
would  not  have  mattered  had  we  been  in  Provence, 
where  every  door  swings  open  at  our  touch;  but  it 
was  dismal  to  be  penniless  so  far  from  home.  Do  you 
remember  the  wretched  garments  in  which  we  clothed 
ourselves?  You  could  cover  your  rags  with  your 
hauberk,  but  as  for  me,  I  dared  not  tumble  for  fear 
I  should  come  forth  naked  through  one  of  the  big 
rents,  like  Adam  into  Eden." 

At  this  Raimbaut  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh,  but 
his  face  darkened  as  he  said,  — 

"  It  was  then  that  Abert  of  Malaspina  jeered  at  my 
shabby  appearance,  and  asked  whether  in  Provence 
beggars  and  troubadours  belonged  to  the  same  guild? 
Again  he  reminded  me  of  my  poverty  at  Genoa,  where 
I  was  flouted  by  the  lady  to  whom  he  was  secretly 
paying  court.  It  has  been  a  sad  experience  from 
first  to  last.  I  have  met  a  few  liberal  barons,  and 
some  gracious  dames,  but  the  women,  beautiful  as 
they  are,  demand  too  much  here  in  Italy." 

"  Against  their  husbands,  may  all  angels  protect 
us! "  exclaimed  Jacques.  "  Even  I  had  my  narrow 

345 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

escapes,  and  I  quaked  whenever  a  lady  smiled  upon 
you." 

'  They  have  no  liking  for  a  troubadour,  because 
they  do  not  understand  his  life.  I  sing  the  praise  of 
a  chatelaine  with  all  reverence  and  courtliness.  Her 
lord  hears  the  song,  is  jealous  of  the  singer,  and  tries 
to  stick  a  dagger  between  my  ribs!  " 

"  Your  shirt  of  mail  has  saved  you  a  dozen 
times." 

"  It -is  not  cold  steel  that  I  greatly  fear,"  declared 
Raimbaut,  "  but  a  few  grains  in  my  platter  of  that 
flavoring  which  is  neither  salt  nor  pepper.  Certes, 
I  should  have  died  from  poison,  had  not  the  jealous 
Count  at  Pisa  been  too  zealous  and  given  me  an 
overdose." 

"  Moreover,  that  villain  Berguedan  has  led  us  a 
hopeless  chase  and  brought  us  great  misfortune. 
From  Rome  to  Florence,  from  Pisa  to  Genoa,  from 
Milan  to  this  muddy  road  have  we  followed  him. 
He  has  avoided  us  as  if  his  friend  the  devil  gave 
warning  of  our  approach." 

"  Yet  we  have  never  been  on  such  a  hot  scent  as 
now.  He  went  to  the  Castle  of  the  Vale  but  a  week 
ago,  and  the  Count  of  Valenza  had  no  news  of  his 
departure.  I  cannot  understand  how  Bonifaz  can 
receive  him,  even  in  the  company  of  Guilhem  of 
Courthezon,  who,  they  say,  is  a  suitor  for  the  hand 
of  Biatritz." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Jacques,  looking  at  his  master  a 
little  doubtfully,  "  it  would  have  saved  the  hangman  a 

346 


SAINT  BIATRITZ 

task  had  you  finished  the  treacherous  Spaniard  when 
you  had  him  at  your  mercy  in  the  lists  at  Toulouse." 
To  this  Raimbaut  made  no  answer,  and,  in  the 
silence  which  followed,  his  mind  was  occupied  with 
thoughts,  many  of  which  were  not  pleasant.  He 
asked  himself  if  after  all  his  life  had  not  been  a  failure. 
How  had  he  kept  his  high  resolve?  How  had  he 
succeeded  in  his  quest  of  the  Perfect  Love?  He 
remembered,  as  if  itwere  yesterday,  the  tragic  moment 
when  Death  waited  for  him  with  open  jaws  at  the 
foot  of  the  steep  crag  of  the  Devil's  Tooth.  How 
sincere  he  had  been,  how  devoted,  how  enthusiastic 
when,  in  the  presence  of  Anselme,  he  had  slashed  his 
mantle,  and  sworn  to  follow  Saint  Martin  in  a  life  of 
purity  and  love !  How  faithfully  he  had  trodden  the 
holy  way  until  the  presence  of  Berguedan  filled  his 
heart  with  hatred!  Every  day,  every  hour  of  his 
life  at  Cabaret  passed  before  him.  In  spite  of  true 
repentance,  how  often  had  he  longed  to  hold  Loba 
in  his  arms  again:  Loba,  whose  beautiful  body  was 
long  since  food  for  worms!  At  the  thought  of  her, 
his  soul  was  full  of  sadness  and  regret.  He  had  suc- 
ceeded beyond  his  most  sanguine  hopes  in  his  life  of 
song.  He  was  known  as  a  troubadour  without  a 
rival.  Yet  the  mantle  on  his  shoulder  told  its  story: 
for  instead  of  being  severed  from  collar  to  hem,  it 
showed  only  an  indistinguishable  fragment  cut  from 
the  corner  as  a  proof  of  how  lightly  he  had  come  to 
value  his  vow.  Although  he  never  regretted  his  oath 
of  purity,  he  had  almost  given  up  his  faith  in  Perfect 

347 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Love.  As  his  thoughts  came  down  through  the  years 
to  that  very  moment,  he  tried  to  gather  his  wits 
together  in  preparation  for  his  meeting  with  Bonifaz. 
How  well  he  remembered  the  deplorable  quarrel  at 
Toulouse  and  his  friend's  declaration,  - 

"  I  will  balance  our  oath  of  comradeship  against 
the  indignity  of  this  blow,  and  call  them  both  can- 
celled. The  insult  and  the  friendship  are  alike  for- 
gotten." 

Raimbaut  realized  that  on  him  alone  rested  all  the 
blame  for  the  estrangement.  He  was  quite  ready  to 
confess  this  and  ask  for  pardon.  He  longed  to  have 
the  old  friendship  restored,  yet  he  was  not  certain  of  a 
kind  reception,  nor  eager  to  reach  the  Castle  of  the 
Vale. 

"  Shall  we  stay  long  at  Pomaro,  think  you?  "  asked 
Jacques. 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  replied  Raimbaut.  "  We  may 
not  stop  at  all.  Bonifaz  has  become  a  famous 
knight;  all  Italy  rings  with  his  praise.  He  may  not 
condescend  to  let  us  in." 

Jacques  shrugged  his  shoulders  eloquently,  and  for 
several  minutes  they  rode  in  silence  through  the  mist. 
Suddenly,  Raimbaut' s  revery  was  broken  by  a  scream 
ahead,  a  hoarse  cry  for  help,  and  the  clatter  of  angry 
steel.  They  could  judge  of  distance  only  by  the  sense 
of  hearing,  for  the  March  fog  still  hid  everything  in 
an  impenetrable  veil. 

Raimbaut  slipped  his  helmet  on  his  head,  and  drew 
his  sword.  Jacques  wriggled  hurriedly  into  his 

348 


SAINT  BIATRITZ 

padded  coat,  and  pulled  the  strap  of  his  steel  cap 
under  his  chin.  Full  of  doubt  as  to  what  was  before 
them,  they  spurred  their  horses  along  the  level  road, 
swung  around  a  sharp  curve,  and  found  themselves 
in  the  midst  of  a  fierce  melee. 

As  they  dashed  into  the  group  of  struggling  men, 
Jacques'  horse  bowled  over  one  of  the  combatants, 
and  stumbling  heavily,  sent  his  rider  over  his  head 
crashing  to  the  ground.  For  a  moment  Raimbaut 
sat  his  horse,  uncertain.  Jacques  lay  where  he  had 
fallen;  there  was  another  form  stretched  on  the 
ground ;  and  a  third  sorry  wretch  leaned  on  his  elbow, 
able  only  to  groan.  On  one  side  of  the  road  were  a 
half  dozen  surly  men  huddled  together,  each  with  a 
high  iron  helmet  on  his  head.  They  were  confused 
by  the  unexpected  appearance  of  Raimbaut,  and 
doubtful  whether  to  stand  their  ground  or  take  to 
flight. 

On  the  other  side,  in  front  of  a  wayside  shrine, 
there  stood  a  gaunt  man-at-arms.  His  sword  was  in 
his  hand,  its  point  resting  on  the  grass,  his  gray  head 
dripping  from  a  ghastly  wound.  He  was  well-nigh 
spent.  At  sight  of  him,  and  in  answer  to  the  agoniz- 
ing appeal  in  the  old  man's  eyes,  Raimbaut  slipped 
from  his  horse.  In  the  same  instant  the  tall  figure 
tottered  and  fell  forward,  revealing  the  slender  form 
of  a  demoiselle  standing  motionless  in  the  niche  of  the 
shrine. 

Raimbaut  fell  on  his  knees  and  crossed  himself. 
It  was  a  vision  of  Saint  Love!  He  neither  spoke  nor 

349 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

stirred,  until  a  heavy  hand  on  his  shoulder  woke  him 
from  his  dream.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  a  sturdy  man-at-arms,  who 
louted  clumsily  and  said,  — 

"  We  are  townsmen  of  Vercelli,  at  odds  with  the 
Marquis  of  Monferrat.  This  demoiselle  is  the  Lady 
Biatritz,  a  daughter  of  the  house,  whom  we  propose 
to  hold  as  hostage  to  protect  ourselves  from  her 
brother's  aggression.  To  her  we  shall  do  no  harm. 
I  know  not  who  you  are,  and  care  not,  if  you  choose 
to  go  your  way.  We  are  able  to  take  the  demoiselle  in 
spite  of  you.  If  you  are  discreet,  you  will  remount 
your  horse.  It  is  no  affair  of  yours.  Oppose  us, 
and  you  will  in  no  wise  help  the  maid,  but  will  serve 
a  banquet  for  the  crows,  even  now  calling  together 
over  our  heads,  having  scented  blood." 

When  he  had  finished,  Raimbaut  lifted  his  eyes  up 
to  the  sun,  which  was  breaking  through  the  mists. 
"  Good  saints  all,"  said  he  under  his  breath,  "  I 
thank  you  for  this  day!  "  Then  he  looked  straight 
at  the  man  before  him,  who  snarled  impatiently,  — 

"  We  are  in  no  mood  to  wait  for  an  answer.  I  do 
not  wish  to  kill  you,  for  I  see  you  are  a  pretty  singer 
of  songs,  and  not  a  knight.  I  pray  you  mount  your 
horse,  and  save  your  white  skin." 

"Enough!"  replied  Raimbaut,  laughing  aloud. 
"  I  confess  I  am  more  skilful  with  the  lute,  yet  I 
have  held  a  steel  blade  in  my  hand  before,  and  I  will 
do  my  poor  best  with  it  now.  Between  riding  away, 
and  a  quick  death  in  defence  of  the  saint  of  this 

350 


SAINT  BIATRITZ 

shrine,  I  am  not  slow  to  choose.  May  God  help  the 
right!  En  garde,  Messieurs!" 

He  had  hardly  spoken  when  the  leader  made  a 
lunge  at  him;  but  so  quick  was  the  counter-stroke 
that  it  caught  his  antagonist  full  in  the  neck  where 
the  hauberk  met  the  helmet.  The  man  fell,  with  the 
blood  gushing  from  his  throat.  In  another  instant 
Raimbaut  was  attacked  by  five  eager  blades.  The 
men  of  Vercelli  rushed  at  him  fiercely,  jostling  one 
another  in  their  impatience  to  strike  the  first  blow. 

Raimbaut's  sword  was  like  a  flame;  one  of  his 
assailants  cried  out,  another  fell  back,  and  the  rest 
followed  in  confusion. 

"  'Sdeath!  "  cried  he.  "  Are  you  so  easily  satis- 
fied, my  brave  men  of  Vercelli?  You  do  not  like 
the  tune  a  troubadour  plays  with  his  sword? 
F  faith,"  said  he,  over  his  shoulder,  "  you  may  trust 
me,  sweet  Saint  Love.  I  swear  they  shall  not  come 
near  you." 

His  voice  was  like  a  trumpet,  his  face  bright  with 
the  joy  of  conflict  as  he  met  the  second  attack.  But 
the  men  of  Vercelli  had  now  learned  their  lesson. 
Two  only  approached  boldly  in  front,  while  two 
others  watched  warily  on  either  side,  ready  to  give  an 
unexpected  blow.  Of  what  followed  Raimbaut  could 
never  remember  much,  for  the  love  of  battle  was 
strong  upon  him.  They  never  ceased  their  attack, 
planning  to  wear  out  an  opponent  to  whom  they  gave 
not  an  instant's  rest.  Once  Raimbaut  was  beaten  to 
his  knees;  but  at  a  little  cry  from  the  niche  behind 

351 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

him  he  struggled  to  his  feet,  and  fought  so  desper- 
ately that  again  his  assailants  drew  back  into  the 
road. 

All  this  while  the  mists  were  fading,  and  the  day 
was  brightening.  Suddenly  some  one  gave  a  shout 
and  pointed  through  the  trees.  Raimbaut  could  dis- 
cern a  strong  castle  out  of  which  galloped  a  cavalcade, 
well-armed  and  mounted.  As  he  watched  them 
there  came  another  cry,  and  when  he  turned  he  could 
see  nothing  but  the  backs  of  the  men  of  Vercelli  scat- 
tering among  the  trees  and  disappearing  like  a  flock 
of  partridges.  He  quickly  drew  the  helmet  from  his 
head  and  bent  his  knee  before  the  shrine. 

"  Sweet  Saint  Love,"  said  he,  "I  thank  God  that 
to  me  has  been  given  the  honor  of  your  defence.  It 
is  you  who  have  inspired  me,  and  guided  every  stroke 
of  my  sword." 

Again  Raimbaut  felt  the  benison  of  the  clear  brown 
eyes  which  looked  into  his.  And  now  right  well  he 
knew  it  was  no  vision. 

"  First  to  the  saints  to  whom  I  prayed,  and  then  to 
your  own  strong  arm  and  stout  heart,  belong  the 
glory,"  said  the  demoiselle.  "  No  vision  am  I,  as  you 
will  quickly  learn  when  you  lift  me  to  the  ground. 
I  fear  our  poor  Renato  is  beyond  helping.  Alas,  my 
heart  is  sore  to  see  him  lying  so  still!  " 

She  held  out  her  hand,  but  he  gently  took  her  in 
his  arms  and  placed  her  on  her  feet  by  the  side  of  the 
old  man.  He  then  seized  his  helmet  and  hurried 
away  to  a  brook  that  he  could  hear  trickling  among 

352 


SAINT  BIATRITZ 

the  trees.  When  he  returned  with  the  water  in  his 
morion,  he  found  Biatritz  with  Renato's  head  in  her 
lap,  his  eyes  already  glazed  in  death.  She  closed  the 
heavy  lids  with  her  slender  fingers  and  whispered 
De  Profundis  for  the  departed  spirit,  Raimbaut  a 
kneeling  by  her  side. 

It  was  thus  that  Bonifaz  discovered  them  when  he 
arrived  at  the  head  of  the  little  cavalcade.  He  sprang 
from  his  horse,  and  making  his  way  over  the  recum- 
bent figure  in  the  road,  first  assured  himself  that 
Biatritz  was  unharmed ;  then  he  turned  to  Raimbaut. 
The  two  friends  looked  in  each  other's  eyes.  Raim- 
baut's  parched  lips  opened,  and  he  said, — 

"  I  was  in  the  wrong.     I  pray  you  pardon  me!  " 

"  You  have  already  atoned,"  replied  Bonifaz. 
"  More  than  this,  you  have  won  a  right  to  wear 
golden  spurs  by  a  splendid  feat  of  arms.  Here  is  an 
act  of  bravery,  untarnished  by  hatred  or  revenge, 
such  as  you  vowed  to  accomplish  after  your  combat 
with  Berguedan." 

He  dropped  the  hand  he  had  clasped  in  proof  of 
renewed  comradeship,  paused  a  moment,  and  giving 
Raimbaut  a  swinging  buffet  on  the  neck,  declared, — 

"Raimbaut  of  Vacqueiras,  with  this  stroke  I  dub 
you  a  knight  indeed.  May  you  be  always  brave  and 
true." 

As  Raimbaut  stood  with  bowed  head,  in  his  heart  a 
great  joy,  he  heard  a  voice,  every  accent  of  which  was 
full  of  feeling, — 

"  May  you  be  faithful  to  God!     May  you  be  loyal 

353 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

to  your  lady!     May  the  saints  give  you  always  a 
strong  arm  and  a  pure  heart!  " 

When  he  turned,  the  sun  had  broken  through  the 
mist,  and  was  shining  into  the  recess  of  the  lichen- 
covered  shrine.  In  front  of  it  stood  Biatritz,  her  face 
transfigured  in  the  sunlight,  her  hair  a  halo  around 
her  head. 

"  Sweet  Lady  Biatritz,"  he  replied,  "  I  am  unde- 
serving both  of  knighthood  and  your  blessing.  Yet 
will  I  strive  to  become  worthy,  with  your  help,  and 
that  of  good  Saint  Martin,  my  patron." 

"  And  now,"  cried  Bonifaz,  heartily,  "  enough  of 
solemn  vows  and  exhortations!  We  must  send  assist- 
ance to  these  poor  beggars  whom  you  have  carved 
so  skilfully.  Old  Renato  has  died  as  he  would 
wish,  in  defence  of  his  lady.  God  rest  his  soul !  Now 
let  us  mount  our  horses  and  return  to  the  castle, 
where  I  can  promise  you  something  to  quench  your 
thirst." 

They  made  their  way  across  the  road,  where  their 
horses  stood  among  the  trees.  Raimbaut's  mind  had 
been  so  occupied  that  he  had  quite  forgotten  Jacques, 
until  he  discovered  him  leaning  pale  and  trembling 
against  a  tree.  The  poor  fellow  looked  up  with  a 
sickly  smile  and  said,  — 

11  Instead  of  glory,  this  morning  has  brought  me 
only  a  sore  head.  I  came  to  myself  just  in  time  to 
see  you  receive  the  buffet  of  knighthood  through  a 
shower  of  meteors.  I  should  be  well  kicked  for  the 
clumsiness  which  left  you  to  fight  alone." 

354 


SAINT  BIATRITZ 

"  You  were  lucky  not  to  break  your  neck,"  de- 
clared Bonifaz.  "  Your  cap  is  flattened,  and  the 
blood  is  dripping  from  your  chin.  If  he  who  suffers 
most  deserves  most,  to  you  should  come  the  honors 
of  this  morning." 

They  helped  Jacques  climb  on  the  sorry  beast  that 
had  given  him  his  fall.  Raimbaut  lifted  Biatritz  on 
to  her  palfrey,  and,  mounting  his  own  horse,  gal- 
loped toward  the  castle  in  the  midst  of  a  cavalcade, 
every  face  in  which  was  bright  with  friendship  and 
admiration.  Indeed,  it  seemed  hardly  possible  that 
a  short  half  hour  before  he  had  been  groping  along 
the  road  from  Valenza,  his  heart  fullof  loneliness.  It 
had  been  a  golden  morning.  He  had  enjoyed  a  glori- 
ous struggle  of  arms;  he  had  won  his  spurs;  he  had 
regained  the  love  of  his  old  comrade.  More  than  all 
else,  he  had  bowed  at  the  shrine  of  sweet  Saint 
Biatritz. 

They  had  almost  reached  the  castle  when  Raim- 
baut's  brow  suddenly  grew  black.  He  turned  to 
Bonifaz  and  inquired  eagerly,  - 

"  Tell  me,  is  Berguedan  at  the  castle?  " 

"He  is  not,"  replied  Bonifaz.  "  He  came  in  the 
retinue  of  Guilhem  of  Courthezon,  but  I  flatly  refused 
to  receive  him.  Guilhem  was  greatly  surprised  and 
very  apologetic,  for  he  is  a  suitor  for  my  sister  Biatritz, 
and  it  was  an  unfortunate  beginning  for  his  visit." 

"  I  have  an  errand  with  that  Catalonian,"  declared 
Raimbaut,  "  which  has  long  been  delayed.  He  has 
escaped  me  repeatedly,  though  I  have  followed  him 

355 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

for  many  weary  months.  Is  an  alliance  to  be  ar- 
ranged with  the  house  of  Courthezon?  Is  it  the  same 
mocking  Guilhem  that  I  knew  so  well?  " 

"  I  confess  I  do  not  altogether  like  the  man,"  said 
Bonifaz,  "  but  my  good  father  has  set  his  heart  upon 
the  marriage.  I  am  expecting  every  day  some  mes- 
sage from  him,  and  shall  no  doubt  receive  instructions 
when  the  first  ship  from  Palestine  reaches  Genoa. 
Guilhem  stayed  with  us  only  a  few  days,  but  returns 
after  a  visit  to  Turin.  Whither  Berguedan  went  I 
cannot  tell." 

"  I  should  not  delay  to  follow  him,"  declared  Raim- 
baut,  "  yet  I  cannot  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  a 
week  with  you  before  I  take  up  the  pursuit  again." 

"  A  week,  say  you!  "  cried  Bonifaz.  "  The  Castle 
of  the  Vale  is  now  your  home.  Are  we  not  comrades 
in  arms  as  in  the  old  days?  You  shall  not  leave  me 
in  a  week,  nor  a  full  round  year.  Do  not  force  me  to 
cast  you  into  a  dungeon  to  keep  you  at  my  side." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE   CASTLE   OF   THE  VALE 

WHEN  Raimbaut  rode  into  the  courtyard  of  the 
Castle  of  the  Vale  it  did  not  seem  possible,  in  spite  of 
Bonifaz'  friendly  threat,  that  it  could  contain  within 
its  towers  a  single  dungeon.  The  sunlight  filled  it, 
flowers  bloomed  along  the  walls,  and  ivy  covered  the 
rough  stones  with  a  veil  of  green.  In  one  corner  was 
a  huge  chestnut  tree,  gorgeous  with  its  pink  blooms. 
The  varlets  had  smiling  faces,  and  sprang  eagerly  for- 
ward to  hold  the  horses'  bridles.  The  very  wind 
seemed  to  breathe  friendliness,  for  it  was  soft  and 
genial. 

When  he  dismounted  he  felt  a  sharp  twinge  of  pain 
in  his  thigh,  and  again  when  he  assisted  Biatritz  to 
alight.  As  he  climbed  the  steps  he  could  not  avoid  a 
limp,  which  Bonifaz  did  not  fail  to  notice.  So,  in  defi- 
ance of  Raimbaut's  protests,  he  was  carried  to  his  room 
by  two  stout  men-at-arms  and  carefully  examined 
by  Bonifaz,  who  discovered  that  his  friend  had  slightly 
strained  a  tendon.  After  a  hot  bath  and  a  good  rub- 
down  with  a  fragrant  lotion,  he  found  himself  almost 
wholly  restored.  He  had  dinner  in  his  own  room,  but 
rose  in  the  late  afternoon,  and  leaning  on  Bonifaz' 
shoulder,  walked  without  difficulty  to  the  library. 
This  was  a  large  apartment  between  the  chambers  of 
Bonifaz  and  Biatritz,  into  which  no  stranger  or  formal 

357 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

friend  was  ever  admitted.  In  it  were  many  precious 
books;  the  walls  were  covered  with  beautiful  hang- 
ings ;  and  on  the  floor  were  rugs  from  the  far  Orient. 
Close  by  the  window  was  a  high  tapestry-frame,  in 
front  of  which  sat  Biatritz,  busy  with  the  shining 
silks  and  richly  colored  worsteds. 

She  rose  as  Raimbaut  entered,  and  arranged  the 
cushion  on  a  low  couch,  upon  which  he  was  glad  to 
sink.  She  drew  her  tapestry-frame  so  that  it 
screened  the  bright  sunlight ;  for  though  the  afternoon 
was  showery,  at  that  moment  the  clouds  parted  and 
the  dazzling  rays  streamed  through  the  window. 
When  Bonifaz  had  seated  himself  on  a  tawny  lion's 
skin  by  the  hearth,  he  looked  about  him  and,  nodding 
approvingly,  drew  a  long  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  At  last  my  dream  has  come  true.  This  is  the 
tableau  I  have  so  often  seen;  and  as  you  know,  my 
mind  is  not  given  much  to  fancies.  I  thank  the  good 
saints  who  have  allowed  us  three  to  come  together: 
two  comrades-in-arms,  and  the  sister  of  both.  Do 
you  remember,  Raimbaut,  how  I  told  you  long  ago  in 
Toulouse,  that  if  we  were  to  be  brothers,  my  sister 
must  be  yours  also?  " 

"  I  remember  it  well.  Yet  in  this  plan  the  Lady 
Biatritz  had  no  part.  Even  now  she  may  not  accept 
me." 

Although  Raimbaut  tried  to  speak  carelessly,  Bia- 
tritz did  not  fail  to  notice  the  earnestness  in  his  voice; 
her  face  was  very  sympathetic  as  she  turned  to  him 
and  said,  — 

358 


THE  CASTLE  OF  THE  VALE 

"  When  Bonifaz  told  me  he  had  chosen  you  for  his 
brother-in-arms,  I  felt  at  first  a  sharp  pang  of  jeal- 
ousy; then  I  accepted  you  with  all  my  heart.  Like 
Bonifaz,  I  have  often  dreamed  that  we  should  some 
day  be  together,  as  we  are  this  afternoon.  One  thing 
only  has  my  brother  refused  to  tell  me,  and  that  is  the 
reason  for  your  estrangement.  Over  this  I  have  shed 
many  a  sad  tear." 

"  Indeed,"  exclaimed  Raimbaut,  "he  is  always 
generous.  He  was  silent  because  he  wished  to  shield 
me.  The  fault  was  mine  alone." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that  as  I  once  was,"  declared 
Bonifaz.  "  Let  us  forget  it  altogether,  now  we  are 
friends  again.  Tell  me  something  of  yourself.  I 
learned  about  your  triumph  at  Le  Puy,  and  I  can  see 
the  little  Sparrow-Hawk  of  gold  hanging  from  your 
neck.  There  are  many  who  envy  you  its  possession. 
I  knew  that  you  became  the  favorite  troubadour  of 
Provence,  and  that  all  Languedoc  was  at  your  feet. 
But  it  is  your  real  self  I  would  have  you  talk  about. 
Do  you  still  believe  in  the  Perfect  Love?  Have  you 
found  it?  " 

Although  Bonifaz  asked  the  question,  it  was  to 
Biatritz  Raimbaut  turned,  with  something  of  the 
reverence  of  the  confessional. 

"  I  still  wear  my  severed  mantle,  though,  as  you  see, 
only  a  small  fragment  has  been  cut  from  it.  I  have 
never  been  willing  to  renounce  my  vow,  yet  I  confess 
it  has  often  rested  lightly  upon  me.  In  Perfect  Love 
I  have  never  ceased  to  trust,  even  when  my  faith 

359 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

grew  faint.  I  dare  not  say  that  I  have  found  it;  yet 
there  is  in  my  heart  the  glimmer  of  a  great  hope." 

As  Raimbaut  spoke,  he  looked  into  the  beautiful 
eyes  which  were  turned  upon  him,  and  when  he 
ended,  there  was  a  touch  of  color  on  Biatritz'  cheek. 

'  That  is  good  news,  indeed,"  declared  Bonifaz. 
"  It  pleases  us  when  those  we  best  love  keep  to  their 
ideals.  I  feared  you  might  be  spoiled  by  flattery,  for 
rumor  said  that  every  chatelaine  and  demoiselle  in 
Languedoc  was  jealous  of  your  favor,  and  that  some 
were  threatening  to  don  armor  and  settle  their  rival 
claims  in  the  lists!  " 

'  Though  my  success  exceeded  my  merits,"  re- 
plied Raimbaut,  a  little  uncomfortably,  "  the  truth 
was  multiplied  a  thousand-fold.  There  are  always 
women  whose  light  heads  are  turned  by  the  song  of  a 
troubadour.  Yet  I  have  met  many  serious  chate- 
laines devoted  to  the  art  alone,  from  whom  I  have 
received  inspiration.  Had  I  been  spoiled  by  adula- 
tion in  Provence,  my  pride  would  have  been  quickly 
cured  by  the  good  people  of  Italy.  They  clipped  my 
wings  relentlessly!  " 

At  this  Bonifaz'  laughter  was  full  of  sympathy. 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  "  in  the  south  they  understand 
the  principles  of  the  Gay  Science  not  at  all.  Only 
we  of  the  north  comprehend  that  a  troubadour  may 
sing  a  lady's  praise  and  love  her  with  a  pure  devotion. 
There  is  something  in  the  Italian  spirit  which  is  at 
the  same  time  less  ethereal  and  more  intense  than 
that  which  possesses  your  '  land  of  the  wind  and  sun.' 

360 


THE  CASTLE  OF  THE  VALE 

Our  barons  are  less  prodigal  in  their  gifts,  and  our 
ladies  less  lavish  with  their  favors.  Yet  I  must  tell 
you  our  friendship  is  lasting,  and  our  love  less  vari- 
able. I  believe  you  are  more  likely  to  find  here  in 
Italy  the  Perfect  Love  which  you  seek,  than  among 
the  ladies  of  Provence." 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  my  treatment, 
Bonifaz,  for  I  was  an  alien;  and  at  the  beginning  I  had 
not  a  dozen  words  of  your  tongue  at  my  command. 
What  wonder  is  it  that  they  looked  upon  me  with  sus- 
picion? Who  can  blame  them  that  they  cared  not 
for  my  song?  But  now  that  I  have  learned  to  speak 
your  language  here  in  the  north,  I  have  been  well 
received  and  have  made  many  friends." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  replied  Bonifaz.  "  Should  you 
go  to  Rome  or  Florence  again,  you  would  meet  with 
different  fortunes." 

"  But  he  must  make  no  plans  to  leave  us,"  declared 
Biatritz  cordially.  "  There  are  many  ladies  scat- 
tered through  the  country  between  Milan  and  Turin 
who  are  greatly  interested  in  the  Gay  Science;  they 
will  be  glad  to  come  to  Pomaro  when  they  learn  that 
you  are  at  the  Castle.  I  am  eager  to  hear  your  voice, 
which  Bonifaz  declares  is  beyond  compare.  You  shall 
never  lack  me  for  a  listener,  wanting  a  better." 

Raimbaut  bowed. 

"  I  wish  no  larger  audience,  and  could  hope  for  no 
greater  inspiration  for  my  song.  Yet  I  fear  that  my 
singing  will  disappoint  you.  There  is  no  disadvan- 
tage like  the  over-generous  praise  of  a  friend!  My 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

good  Bonifaz,  why  did  you  load  me  with  this  burden? 
Now  tell  me  something  of  yourself,  for  you  must  both 
be  weary  of  my  affairs.  I  know  you  are  famous  as  a 
knight  and  a  leader  in  arms.  Indeed,  I  hesitated  to 
come  to  you  this  morning,  fearing  you  had  forgotten 
our  old  friendship  in  Toulouse." 

'  The  Monf errata  forget  neither  friend  nor  foe. 

I  must  tell  you  that,  caring  not  to  lose  the  attach- 
ment of  my  companions  at  Toulouse,  I  paid  them 
a    visit,    from    which    I    have    but   a   little   while 
returned." 

"Tell  me  about  them  all,"  cried  Raimbaut  eagerly. 

'  There  were  slight  changes  at  the  court.  Count 
Raimon  carries  his  years  lightly,  and  Bernart  has 
found  the  secret  of  perpetual  youth.  He  sang  for 
me  with  a  voice  almost  as  resonant  as  when  first  I 
listened  to  him.  I  missed  the  fair  Alazais :  the  palace 
seemed  strangely  vacant  and  empty  without  her. 
But  I  did  not  forget  to  visit  her  at  Beziers.  In 
Arnaut  she  has  an  ideal  troubadour,  whose  devotion 
knows  no  bounds;  yet  I  judged  from  her  blush  when 
she  inquired  about  you,  that  she  has  not  quite  lost 
her  old  fondness." 

At  this  Raimbaut,  in  spite  of  his  experience,  could 
not  conceal  a  tinge  of  embarrassment.  He  changed 
the  subject  by  asking,  — 

"  What  learned  you  of  Miraval,  and  Folquet,  and 
Guilhem?" 

"  They  had  all  left  the  court,"  answered  Bonifaz. 

II  Miraval  was  breaking  hearts  and  singing  pretty 

362 


THE  CASTLE  OF  THE  VALE 

songs  in  every  hospitable  castle.  Folquet  is  now 
a  rival  of  Peire  Vidal  in  the  good  graces  of  the 
Countess  of  Marseille.  Have  you  heard  of  Peire's 
latest  adventure?  " 

"  Not  a  word  has  come  to  me  since  I  took  ship  at 
Marseille." 

"  Our  little  friend  with  the  pointed  beard  was  wan- 
dering to  and  fro  through  the  Camargue,  like  a  butter- 
fly among  the  flowers.  At  last  he  settled  down  at 
Saint  Gilles,  where,  for  a  time,  he  forgot  his  old  love 
and  sang  the  praises  of  a  fair  lady  who  smiled  upon 
him.  Either  she  was  too  lavish  with  her  favors,  or 
they  were  multiplied  in  the  telling.  Peire  so  far  forgot 
himself  as  to  boast  of  his  conquest  and  of  the  tokens 
of  love  which  he  had  received.  Unfortunately  his 
words  were  repeated  to  the  lady's  husband.  He 
would  not,  like  Count  Barral,  accept  Peire  as  a  joke. 
The  angry  knight  seized  the  little  gallant  and  slit  his 
tongue,  swearing  that  the  foolish  braggart  should  be 
silent,  for  a  time  at  least." 

"  It  was  indeed  a  sharp  lesson !"  exclaimed  Biatritz. 
"  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor  fellow." 

"  Yet  he  richly  deserved  his  punishment,"  declared 
Raimbaut,  "  and  there  are  others,  knights  as  well 
as  troubadours,  who  should  suffer  for  their  indiscre- 
tions. You  have  forgotten  Guilhem.  Is  he  still  at 
Toulouse?  " 

"  Even  he  had  departed.  They  say  he  is  attached 
to  the  chatelaine  of  Roussillon,  whose  husband 
watches  her  ever  with  a  jealous  eye." 

363 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  May  the  saints  keep  our  little  lad  from  all  harm ! " 
exclaimed  Raimbaut.  "  He  was  always  as  merry  as 
a  May  morning.  And  now  I  must  remind  you  that 
not  a  single  word  have  you  told  me  about  yourself,  of 
whom  I  care  most  to  learn." 

"  Well,  that  is  a  short  story,  with  naught  of  inter- 
est. When  I  reached  Piedmont,  I  found  we  had  a 
feud  with  the  city  of  Vercelli,  and  I  was  obliged  to  use 
my  sword  as  a  key  to  enter  the  gate  of  my  father's 
castle.  I  married  the  Lady  Eleanora,  the  daughter 
of  a  neighboring  baron.  She  is  a  dear  good  wife, 
and  devoted  to  my  boy,  whom  I  keep  safely  housed 
with  her  at  Casale.  As  you  know,  my  father  took 
the  Cross1;  not  long  ago  my  brother  Conrad  followed 
him;  and  I  alone  am  left  in  charge  of  the  family 
affairs.  My  sister  Biatritz  makes  her  home  in  this 
Castle  of  the  Vale,  to  which  I  flee  as  often  as  I  am 
able.  Here  I  drop  affairs  of  state;  and  here  I  come 
to  rest.  Now  that  I  have  you  with  me,  I  am  as  con- 
tented as  is  possible  for  a  man  whose  one  great  desire 
is  unfulfilled." 

"  Tell  me,"  asked  Raimbaut,  "  do  you  still  wish  to 
take  the  Cross?  " 

"  I  shall  never  be  at  peace,"  replied  Bonifaz,  "till  I 
wear  the  holy  emblem  on  my  breast.  Do  you  know  the 
story  of  the  brothers  of  Saint  Bernart  of  Clairvaux?" 

"  I  do  not  think  I  have  heard  it." 

"  The  parchment  declares  that  Bernart,  on  fire 
with  heavenly  desires,  induced  his  haughty  brothers, 
one  after  another,  to  forsake  the  world,  until  only 

364 


THE  CASTLE  OF  THE  VALE 

Nivard,  the  youngest,  was  left  in  his  father's  house. 
The  oldest  brother,  Guido,  watching  him  at  play  and 
thinking  sadly  of  a  family  almost  extinct,  bade  him 
remember  that  he  was  now  sole  heir  to  their  ancestral 
lands.  '  Heaven  for  you,  and  earth  for  me! '  cried 
Nivard.  '  Ah,  that  is  not  a  fair  division ! '  And  a 
little  later  he,  too,  followed  his  brothers'  example. 
Raimbaut,  I  have  been  left,  like  young  Nivard,  to 
look  after  the  temporal  affairs  of  Monferrat;  but  I 
promise  you  I  am  not  satisfied  with  my  task,  and  I 
shall  not  linger  here  for  ever." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Biatritz  sadly,  and  a  little  re- 
proachfully, "  you  forget  it  is  the  women  who  suffer 
most.  It  is  easy  for  a  Crusader  knight  to  don  his 
armor,  and  ride  away  with  his  comrades  at  the 
sound  of  the  trumpet,  supported  by  the  prayers  of 
Holy  Church.  It  is  true  he  may  die  under  the 
scorching  sun  of  Palestine,  and  leave  his  bones  to 
bleach  on  the  desert.  If  he  come  not  home  again, 
Heaven  is  his  portion;  meanwhile  he  has  the  joy  of 
battle  and  the  hazard  of  arms  to  tempt  him.  While 
he  is  away,  wife  and  sister  must  sit  at  home  waiting 
for  the  message  that  is  long  coming,  hoping  for  it,  yet 
fearing  it  may  bring  words  of  disaster  or  death.  If 
the  knight  comes  not  back,  there  are  the  long  years 
of  desolation  for  those  who  love  him.  Think  of  day 
after  day  spent  in  bending  over  useless  tapestry,  or 
weeping  before  a  crucifix !  One  brother  have  I  given 
to  die  for  the  cause  of  Christ.  Another  has  left  me 
at  the  call  of  the  Cross;  and  I  have  not  seen  my 

365 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

father's  face  for  weary  months.  Bonifaz  alone  re- 
mains and  he  is  eager  to  be  away!  Nothing  would  I 
deny  Heaven,  yet  is  it  too  much  to  ask  that  my  last 
brother  shall  stay  by  my  side?  " 

When  Biatritz  finished,  she  turned  to  the  tapestry 
to  conceal  her  emotion  in  the  task  before  her.  Boni- 
faz sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Only  the  call  of  the  Cross  could  tempt  me  from 
your  side,"  he  said,  bending  over  her  with  tenderness. 
"  Only  the  love  of  Christ  is  greater  than  that  I  bear 
for  you  and  Eleanora.  I  shall  never  leave  you  unless 
I  feel  my  hope  of  Heaven  is  at  stake." 

All  this  opened  a  new  world  to  Raimbaut  as  he 
watched  and  listened  from  the  low  couch.  He  had 
known  something  of  the  same  spirit  of  renunciation 
when  he  had  made  his  vow  to  follow  in  the  footsteps 
of  Saint  Martin.  His  stayat  Toulouse  had  done  much 
to  eradicate  his  early  impressions,  and  his  experience 
since  he  had  become  a  troubadour  had  often  taught 
him  to  look  lightly  upon  the  serious  things  of  life.  He 
had  at  all  times  been  better  than  his  surroundings, 
more  earnest  than  those  with  whom  he  lived,  yet 
never  had  he  found  himself  in  touch  with  a  super- 
natural devotion  like  this.  He  felt  how  far  it  was 
above  him,  and  there  came  into  his  heart  a  sudden 
desire  for  good,  which  was  startling  in  its  intensity. 
As  he  watched  the  brother  and  sister,  forgetful  of  his 
presence  under  the  influence  of  their  deep  feeling,  he 
determined  that  he  would  try  to  find  the  secret  of  the 
spirit  that  inspired  them. 

366 


THE  CASTLE  OF  THE  VALE 

"  I  must  tell  you,"  said  Bonifaz,  "  that  this  sister 
of  mine  so  loves  me,  unworthy,  that  she  is  jealous  of 
everything  that  takes  my  heart  from  her.  I  confess 
I  am  not  all  unlike  her,  for  when  Messire  Guilhem 
rode  into  the  courtyard  with  his  handsome  face  and 
brave  apparel,  announcing  himself  a  suitor  for  her 
hand,  I  could  scarce  restrain  my  resentment.  Even 
now,  I  cannot  reconcile  myself  to  their  betrothal, 
although  I  well  know  it  is  my  father's  wish,  and 
that  the  alliance  is  in  every  way  a  proper  one." 

As  Bonifaz  spoke,  Biatritz'  long  lashes  had  rested 
on  her  cheek,  but  when  he  finished,  she  turned  her 
brown  eyes  full  upon  him. 

"  Dearest  brother,  I  had  your  promise  long  ago 
that  you  would  be  my  ally,  whenever  the  time  came 
that  a  husband  should  be  chosen  for  me.  Messire 
Guilhem  seems  a  worthy  knight ;  I  have  said  neither 
yea  nor  nay,  even  in  my  own  mind.  Yet  you  must 
remember  that  I  have  your  promise." 

"  I'  faith,"  declared  Bonifaz  heartily,  "  I  believe 
I  should  hate  the  archangel  Gabriel  did  he  come  to 
ask  for  you !  It  is  at  a  time  like  this  that  I  feel  most 
deeply  the  loss  of  our  mother.  To  me  she  is  only  a 
faint  memory,  but  to  you  has  been  denied  even 
that." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Biatritz,  "  my  good  old  nurse  has 
told  me  so  much  about  her  that  I  can  picture  her 
plainly.  Have  you  told  Messire  Raimbaut  of  our 
discovery  concerning  the  miniature  in  the  Book  of 
Hours?  " 

367 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  I  have  not  thought  of  it  until  this  moment," 
replied  Bonifaz,  "  but  you  shall  tell  the  story,  who 
can  do  it  best." 

"  You  must  know,"  began  Biatritz,  looking  up 
from  her  tapestry  to  find  Raimbaut's  eyes  intently 
fixed  upon  her, — "  you  must  know  that  although  I 
have  almost  reached  my  eighteenth  year,  Vanna,  my 
old  nurse,  treats  me  as  if  I  were  a  child.  Every  night 
she  tells  me  a  tale  before  I  go  to  sleep,  and  oftenest  it 
is  about  my  mother,  whose  nurse  she  also  was,  and  for 
whose  death  she  still  mourns.  When  my  mother 
was  a  demoiselle  scarce  of  an  age  to  marry,  there 
came  to  Piedmont  a  knight  of  Provence.  Young 
was  he,  handsome,  and  debonair.  He  wore  rich  rai- 
ment, he  spoke  with  a  honeyed  tongue,  and,  most 
wonderful  of  all,  he  sang  such  songs  as  never  had  been 
heard  in  Italy.  For  each  lady  he  had  new  verses, 
praising  her  beauty  and  extolling  her  virtue.  One 
only  would  not  listen  to  him.  Piqued  at  his  repulse, 
the  wandering  gallant  swore  to  win  the  irresponsive 
maiden.  His  aubado  woke  her  from  her  morning 
dreams.  All  day  he  followed  like  her  dog.  The  last 
sound  she  heard  at  night  was  his  viol  under  her  win- 
dow. At  first  she  was  flattered,  for  every  woman 
envied  her;  but  she  soon  wearied,  for  already  she  had 
given  her  heart  to  a  young  Count  of  Piedmont.  This 
man  was  brave  and  comely,  but  rude  withal,  and  he 
had  not  a  single  note  in  his  throat.  Indeed,  he  could 
scarce  speak  at  all  to  her,  so  diffident  was  he.  Yet  at 
last  he  found  courage  to  ask  the  demoiselle  to  marry 

368 


THE  CASTLE  OF  THE  VALE 

him;  and  so  they  were  betrothed.  Even  then  the 
troubadour  did  not  quite  give  up  hope,  but  waited 
about  until  the  priest  had  firmly  wedded  them,  before 
he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  back  to  Provence. 
Now  I  must  tell  you  that  this  disappointed  suitor 
was  an  artist  also,  and  had  great  skill  with  colors. 
That  he  might  be  often  with  the  lady  of  his  love,  he 
had  chosen  to  paint  her  portrait.  Many  were  the 
hours  he  spent  with  her,  looking  on  her  beautiful  face 
and  graceful  figure,  and  reproducing  them  devotedly 
upon  the  canvas.  He  had  scarce  finished  the  por- 
trait by  the  wedding-day;  and  when  he  rode  away, 
silent  and  melancholy,  it  was  all  he  left  behind  him. 
It  has  hung  in  the  alcove  there  for  many  years.  If 
you  care  to  see  it,  Bonifaz  will  help  you  to  rise." 

Leaning  on  his  friend's  shoulder,  Raimbaut  walked 
slowly  across  the  room,  and  gave  an  exclamation  of 
wonder  as  he  saw  upon  the  wall  the  very  double  of 
the  Saint  Love  in  the  Book  of  Hours ;  yet  it  was  no 
more  like  the  miniature  than  Biatritz  herself,  who 
stood  by  his  side. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bonifaz,  "  the  gallant  troubadour 
who  came  to  Piedmont  was  the  Count  of  Courthezon. 
It  was  none  other  than  my  mother  whom  he  loved, 
and  placed  upon  the  parchment  of  the  Book  of  Hours, 
long  after  she  was  dead.  Did  you  ever  discover  why 
the  Count  was  so  interested  in  you?  " 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  knowledge,"  replied 
Raimbaut.  "  Often  have  I  wished  to  learn  the 
secret  hidden  in  the  Book.  To-day,  with  my  spurs 

369 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

rightly  won,  it  would  be  my  privilege  to  touch  the 
spring,  and  read  the  parchment  concealed  under  the 
ivory  plaque.  It  is  for  this  purpose  that  I  have  pur- 
sued Berguedan,  and  must  follow  him  until  I  wrest 
the  stolen  treasure  from  his  evil  clutches." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   ARBOR   OF  DREAMS 

RAIMBAUT  slept  that  night  as  he  had  not  slept 
since  he  left  his  room  in  the  little  tower  at  Vacqueiras. 
During  his  long  months  of  wandering,  he  had  occa- 
sionally enjoyed  the  comfort  of  a  bed  in  a  friendly 
castle,  but  often  it  had  been  only  a  truss  of  straw  by 
the  fireside,  or  a  foul  room  in  a  crowded  inn.  Again 
and  again  he  had  found  the  door  closed  against  him, 
and  had  been  forced  to  sleep  under  the  open  sky. 
This  was  no  hardship  in  fair  weather.  He  had  come 
to  appreciate  the  calm  joy  of  a  night's  rest  with  the 
turf  for  a  couch,  and  the  pines  waving  their  fragrant 
plumes  over  his  head.  He  had  also  known  what  it 
was  to  lie  for  weary  hours  on  the  sodden  ground  with 
the  rain  beating  pitilessly  upon  him,  and  he  had  once 
nearly  lost  his  life  as  he  slept  in  midwinter  among 
the  high  crags  of  the  Apennines.  No  matter  how  he 
might  please  with  his  songs,  he  had  been  at  best  a 
stranger  and  an  alien.  Only  here,  at  the  Castle  of 
the  Vale,  had  he  felt  that  he  was  sheltered  by  the 
walls  of  love  and  friendship.  All  night  long  pleasant 
voices  were  whispering  in  his  ears,  Saint  Love  was 
hovering  over  him,  or  Biatritz,  no  less  fair,  was  smil- 
ing into  his  face. 

He  was  wakened  by  the  ringing  of  a  church  bell. 
It  was  not  the  measured  tolling  for  daily  Mass,  but 

371 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

joyful  peals,  every  note  of  which  spoke  of  gladness 
and  triumph.  It  was  none  other  than  the  blessed 
Easter  morning,  and  when  Raimbaut  rose  and  looked 
out  of  the  window,  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  joy  of 
the  Resurrection  was  filling  his  heart. 

Beneath  him  were  the  tree-tops,  and  gazing  out 
over  the  branches,  he  could  see  the  level  plain  like  the 
garden  of  Paradise,  with  its  groves  of  mulberry,  and 
winding  brooks.  Beyond  were  the  blue  waters  of  the 
Po,  fringed  with  yellow  sand;  and  far  to  the  north 
loomed  the  white  summits  of  the  mountains,  faint 
and  misty  in  the  distance.  As  he  stood  with  the 
fresh  breeze  on  his  brow,  and  with  the  odors  of  garden 
and  forest  in  his  nostrils,  he  wondered  if  Heaven  itself 
could  be  more  sweet. 

Yes,  every  note  of  the  church  bell  was  answered  by 
an  echo  in  his  soul.  This  was  the  first  real  Easter 
he  had  known  for  many  years.  His  estrangement 
from  Bonifaz  had  been  like  a  burden  of  sin,  how 
heavy  he  had  not  realized  till  it  had  been  taken  from 
him.  As  he  thought  over  his  experience  of  yesterday, 
his  fierce  struggle  with  the  men  of  Vercelli,  his  knight- 
hood, and  above  all  the  awakening  in  his  heart,  it 
seemed  a  dream  too  rapturous  to  bear  the  morning 
light.  He  was  interrupted  in  his  meditations  by  the 
entrance  of  Bonifaz,  whose  "  Christ  is  risen!  "  was  in 
itself  a  benediction,  so  full  was  it  of  goodwill. 

"  Christ  is  risen  indeed!  "  replied  Raimbaut,  em- 
bracing his  friend. 

"  Biatritz  bade  me  bring  to  you  this  white  lily  with 
372 


THE  ARBOR  OF  DREAMS 

her  greeting.  Since  the  first  gleam  of  light,  she  has 
been  placing  blossoms  about  the  altars,  and  strewing 
rushes  in  the  aisles.  Tell  me,  how  is  your  thigh? 
Are  you  able  to  walk,  or  shall  I  summon  the  men- 
at-arms?  " 

"  I  am  quite  restored,"  replied  Raimbaut,  looking 
upon  the  lily  as  reverently  as  if  it  were  a  sacred  relic. 

"  And  Jacques  has  no  sad  reminder  of  yesterday 
save  a  lump  on  the  top  of  his  head,  over  which  he  is  as 
merry  as  if  it  belonged  to  his  enemy.  He  is  the  same 
jolly  toothless  lad  who  had  a  smile  for  everybody 
when  we  were  all  together  at  the  court  of  Toulouse." 

"  Yes,  often  when  Fate  seemed  most  unkind,  it 
was  Jacques  who  gave  me  courage.  He  is  the  only 
real  friend  I  have  seen  since  I  left  Provence,  until  I 
reached  this  blessed  spot." 

Now  the  bells  began  again,  and  Bonifaz  declared 
it  most  unlucky  to  be  late  to  Mass  on  Easter  morning. 
So  they  hurried  down  the  stairway,  across  the  court- 
yard, and  entered  the  low  porch  of  the  church.  Little 
it  was,  but  beautiful  in  every  line.  Many  genera- 
tions of  the  race  of  Monferrat  had  endowed  it  liber- 
ally and  gone  to  sleep  on  its  breast.  There  were 
famous  pictures  on  the  walls,  and  through  the  stained- 
glass  windows  streamed  splendid  colors  to  hint  of 
Heaven.  The  air  was  heavy  with  the  odor  of  rare 
incense  and  the  breath  of  fragrant  flowers. 

Raimbaut  followed  Bonifaz,  stepping  carefully  be- 
tween the  groups  of  kneeling  figures,  until  they  came 
to  an  open  space  at  the  left  of  the  high  altar.  Here 

373 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

they  found  Biatritz  on  her  knees,  so  engrossed  by  her 
devotion  that  she  did  not  notice  them  as  they  took 
their  places  by  her  side.  The  candles  were  lit;  the 
priests  and  the  servers  filed  in  slowly.  Raimbaut 
bowed  his  head  and  prayed  as  he  had  never  done 
since  he  left  that  other  little  sanctuary  of  God  at 
Vacqueiras. 

"  Resurrexi,  et  adhuc  tecum  sum,  Alleluia!  "  rose 
the  opening  chant.  It  seemed  the  very  language  of 
Heaven.  Humbly  he  followed  the  solemn  words, 
"  Lord,  Thou  hast  proved  me,  and  known  me."  Not 
with  the  lips  only  did  he  pray,  "  Prosper  our  vows 
by  Thy  grace,  which  Thou  dost  anticipate  by  Thine 
inspiration."  As  he  listened  to  the  story  of  the 
Resurrection  morning,  how  the  stone  was  rolled 
back  from  the  sepulchre,  it  seemed  to  him  that  a 
great  stone  was  rolled  away  from  the  door  of  his 
heart.  At  the  Sanctus  bell,  he  began  to  realize  with 
sorrow  how  unfaithful  he  had  been,  and  bowing  down 
a  long  while,  once  again  he  took  upon  himself  the 
oath,  almost  forgotten,  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of 
Saint  Martin,  and  live  a  life  of  purity  and  love  toward 
all  the  world.  So  near  was  he  to  Biatritz  that  the 
benediction  of  her  presence  possessed  him  more  and 
more.  On  the  steps  there  were  spread  anemones  as 
they  had  dropped  from  her  hand,  but  though  the 
dew-drops  still  glistened  on  their  petals,  they  were  no 
purer  than  her  face.  The  long  lashes  rested  on  a 
cheek  almost  too  pale  for  earthly  beauty,  until  the 
sunbeams  sent  a  tinge  of  rosy  light  upon  it. 

374 


THE  ARBOR  OF  DREAMS 

Raimbaut' s  adoration  was  for  Biatritz,  the  personi- 
fication of  the  womanhood  of  which  he  had  dreamed 
since  a  little  lad  in  the  dark  tower  of  Vacqueiras. 
But  he  looked  beyond  her  through  the  stained-glass 
window  up  to  the  blue  sky  and  into  Heaven  itself. 
The  doubts  which  had  hung  over  him  so  long  were 
exorcised  like  evil  spirits,  and  there  came  to  him  a 
great  peace  on  that  Easter  day. 

With  the  glad  notes  of  the  organ  sounding  in  their 
ears,  the  worshippers  emerged  from  the  shadows  into 
the  bright  sunlight  of  the  fresh  morning.  Bonifaz 
sought  the  stables.  Biatritz  led  the  way  across  the 
square,  passed  through  the  castle  entrance,  and  turn- 
ing to  the  right,  came  to  a  door  which  opened  by  a 
secret  spring  at  the  touch  of  her  hand. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  them,  Raimbaut  found 
himself  in  a  sheltered  garden.  All  around  him  were 
blossoming  flowers.  The  lily  beds  showed  sad  and 
vacant,  the  glory  of  their  fruitage  being  taken  from 
them  to  deck  the  little  church.  One  dense  clump 
only  remained  to  fill  the  air  with  fragrance.  By  this 
Biatritz  lingered  for  a  moment,  bending  lovingly  over 
it,  and  then  entered  an  arbor  which  was  covered  with 
the  dark  green  leaves  and  pink  petals  of  climbing 
roses.  Here  she  took  a  low  seat,  where  she  could 
look  over  the  trees  and  the  fertile  valley  to  the  distant 
mountains,  and  motioned  Raimbaut  to  a  place  by  her 
side.  The  air  was  so  clear  that  they  could  see  Monte 
Rosa  showing  white  on  the  horizon. 

For  a  long  time  neither  spoke.  Raimbaut  was 
375 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

afraid  to  break  the  spell,  and  Biatritz  was  possessed 
by  thoughts  which  she  could  not  express.  At  last  she 
looked  up  into  his  face,  — 

'  This  is  my  own  garden,  which  I  have  been  selfish 
enough  to  keep  to  myself.  Only  Bonifaz  has  entered 
it.  Here  have  I  dreamed  my  dreams  since  I  was  a 
little  child.  Here  I  come  when  I  find  myself  in  doubt 
,  or  trouble.  I  wonder  why  I  have  brought  you  to  it?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  replied  Raimbaut.  "  I  have  no 
right  save  from  your  graciousness." 

"  I  call  this  my  Arbor  of  Dreams,  though  truly  I 
give  not  all  my  time  to  visions.  Here  I  bring  my 
books  and  study  the  lives  of  the  saints  and  the  deeds 
of  heroes.  Which  loved  you  best  to  read  about  when 
you  were  a  little  lad?  " 

"  At  Vacqueiras  I  had  no  choice,  for  we  had  but 
two  poor  manuscripts.  One  was  roughly  penned  and 
scarcely  legible,  yet  it  told  the  story  of  Jaufre  Rudel. 
I  read  it  over  and  over,  until  every  word  was  plainer 
in  my  mind  than  the  dim  characters  on  the  parch- 
ment." 

"Ah!"  Biatritz  added,  quite  unconscious  of  the 
sting  behind  her  words,  "  I  wonder  that  you  cared  to 
read  so  much  about  a  man  who  was  only  a  singer  and 
who  performed  no  deeds  of  valor !  I  had  many  books 
from  which  to  choose.  Oftenest  I  read  of  Sir  Gala- 
had, and  the  vision  of  the  Holy  Grail,  with  its  rose- 
red  light,  tinting  the  white  walls  of  his  cell.  To  the 
very  end  of  his  quest  I  followed  breathless.  Bonifaz 
admired  Lancelot.  Alas!  though  he  was  brave  and 

376 


THE  ARBOR  OF  DREAMS 

strong,  his  heart  was  not  clean,  and  he  saw  not  the 
glory  of  the  sacred  chalice.  I  also  loved  the  tale  of 
Oberon  the  dwarf,  and  Huon  of  Bordeaux.  Often  I 
would  read  the  story  of  Roland,  and  weep  over  his 
death.  When  I  grew  older,  my  fancy  turned  to  the 
struggles  for  the  Cross;  then  Godefroi  of  Bouillon  was 
my  hero." 

"  Were  all  your  thoughts  of  knights?  "  inquired 
Raimbaut.  "  Did  you  never  think  of  a  troubadour 
who  should  sing  your  praises,  as  did  Rudel  for  his 
Princess  Far- A  way?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Biatritz,  "  I  have  never  dreamed  of 
singers.  I  have  always  thought  of  you  in  armor  as 
you  fought  with  Berguedan  in  the  lists.  I  knew  you 
the  moment  you  slid  from  your  horse  yesterday  to 
take  the  place  of  poor  Renato,  —  may  God  rest  his 
soul!  I  broke  the  news  myself  to  Nonna,  who  was 
heartbroken  at  her  husband's  death.  For  fifty  years 
they  had  lived  together.  In  vain  I  tried  to  comfort 
her.  I  could  hear  her  sobbing  by  the  Rood  this  morn- 
ing. Alas,  it  is  a  sad  Easter  for  her!  " 

'  Truly,"  declared  Raimbaut,  "  he  was  braver  than 
I;  yet  to  me  was  given  all  the  glory.  To-day  I 
breathe  the  blessed  air  and  feel  the  warm  sunlight, 
while  he  is  lying  cold  and  stark." 

"  And  far  too  little  praise  was  given  you,"  ex- 
claimed Biatritz.  "  I  have  seen  many  a  tournament 
and  more  than  one  fierce  contest  of  arms,  yet  truly 
have  I  never  set  eyes  upon  a  knight  so  skilful  with 
the  sword.  Bonifaz  tells  me  he  could  not  have  held 

377 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

the  shrine  against  the  men  of  Vercelli.  How  is  it  that 
you  have  so  long  delayed  the  consecration  of  your 
blade  to  the  cause  of  Christ?  After  all,  it  was  but  for 
a  useless  demoiselle  you  fought,  while  you  might  have 
been  striking  lusty  blows  in  defence  of  the  Cross 
itself." 

"  No  demoiselle  is  useless,"  replied  Raimbaut, 
"  who  can  inspire  to  noble  thoughts  as  you  have  done 
to-day.  I  confess  that  my  mind  has  been  too  much 
bent  upon  the  petty  things  of  life,  though  never  have 
I  realized  it  until  now.  Should  the  Call  of  the  Cross 
ever  come  to  me,  I  promise  it  shall  not  fall  on  heed- 
less ears." 

So  they  spent  the  morning  together,  each  speaking 
innermost  thoughts  freely,  each  contented  with  the 
long  silences  which  intervened.  Raimbaut  forgot  to 
use  the  pretty  compliments  and  meaningless  flatteries 
which  he  had  learned  in  his  travels.  He  became 
simple  and  sincere  in  the  presence  of  a  being  whose 
every  thought  was  truth. 

When  the  sun  had  climbed  above  their  heads,  they 
rose  reluctantly,  and  Raimbaut  said,  — 

"  There  is  some  magic  in  this  arbor,  which  quickens 
even  me  to  dreams  of  worthiness." 

"  Then  you  shall  come  to  it  whenever  you  will. 
You  shall  look  from  my  garden  to  the  distant  moun- 
tains and  find  peace  and  content." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

SONGS   TO    BIATRITZ 

So  happy  was  Raimbaut  that  he  postponed  his 
departure  again  and  again,  until  he  no  longer  planned 
to  leave  the  Castle  of  the  Vale.  Berguedan  was 
almost  forgotten,  though  the  thought  of  the  sinister 
Spaniard  was  always  like  a  dark  cloud  hanging  on  the 
horizon  of  his  memory. 

Many  guests  came  to  the  Castle.  The  days  were 
spent  in  hunting  and  falconry,  and  the  evenings, 
when  all  had  gathered  in  the  great  hall,  were  given 
over  to  songs  and  story-telling.  Here  Raimbaut  was 
a  prince  indeed.  He  had  so  far  perfected  himself  in 
his  art  that  he  had  become  a  troubadour  beyond 
compare.  His  voice  was  a  mellow  instrument  with 
which  he  could  interpret  every  emotion,  every  pas- 
sion. He  had  an  infinite  number  of  songs  from  which 
to  choose,  and  in  the  sympathetic  atmosphere  of 
Monferrat  he  composed  many  new  ones.  He  sang 
the  chansons  which  he  had  written  in  praise  of  Ala- 
zais,  of  Loba,  and  of  other  fair  ladies  by  whom  he 
had  been  given  audience.  He  was  always  careful  to 
call  no  one  by  name  and  to  give  no  clue  to  the  object 
of  his  song.  So  successful  was  he  that  visitors  came 
from  a  distance  to  hear  him,  and  all  Piedmont  and 
Lombardy  rang  with  his  triumphs. 

Before  long  he  began  to  sing  of  one  who,  he  declared, 
379 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

surpassed  all  others.  She  was  tall,  and  dark,  and 
slender.  Reserved  was  she,  and  dreamy;  she  smiled 
not  often,  and  never  gave  way  to  thoughtless  merri- 
ment; her  eyes  were  brown,  and  her  hair  like  the 
shadow  of  dusk.  This  lady  was  so  far  above  him 
that  he  had  no  hope  to  win  anything  but  her  sym- 
pathy and  the  right  to  be  called  her  troubadour. 

One  midsummer  afternoon  found  Biatritz  in  the 
little  arbor  looking  out  over  the  plain  which  had  re- 
tained something  of  the  fresh  green  of  springtime, 
thanks  to  the  kind  waters  of  the  Po.  Over  her  head 
were  masses  of  color,  for  the  roses  were  in  full  bloom, 
and  the  air  was  rich  with  their  fragrance.  She  sat 
with  her  hands  folded  listlessly  in  her  lap.  She  had 
neither  book  nor  embroidery,  and  her  dreamy  eyes 
were  turned  to  Monte  Rosa,  showing  faint  and  misty 
against  the  azure  sky.  She  did  not  look  up  when 
there  came  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps,  nor 
even  when  Raimbaut  came  to  the  entrance  and  stood 
before  her. 

For  a  long  time  the  troubadour  gazed  into  the 
beautiful  face  without  speaking.  He  was  loath  to 
disturb  her  dreams,  doubtful  of  the  result  of  what  he 
was  about  to  say.  His  voice  trembled  a  little  in 
spite  of  all  his  strength  of  will. 

"  My  Lady  Biatritz,  I  have  come  to  ask  your 
counsel.  Will  you  give  it  to  me?  " 

"  I  will  gladly  help  you  if  it  be  in  my  power." 

"  I  worship  one  who  is  far  above  me,  so  beautiful, 
so  noble,  and  so  good,  that  I  dare  not  speak  to  her. 

380 


SONGS  TO  BIATRITZ 

Tell  me,  shall  I  conceal  my  thoughts  and  die,  or  shall 
I  reveal  my  heart  to  her,  hoping  against  hope  that  she 
will  have  mercy  and  grant  me  her  favor?  Counsel 
me  —  in  the  name  of  God!  " 

Biatritz  flushed  and  then  grew  pale.  When  she 
spoke,  her  voice  was  very  low  and  calm :  — 

"  Surely  it  is  right  to  declare  one's  self,  rather  than 
to  die!  A  sincere  worshipper  should  not  hesitate  to 
speak  to  his  lady  and  beg  to  be  accepted  as  a  servitor 
and  friend.  I  am  sure,  if  she  be  wise  and  courtly, 
she  will  not  take  it  amiss,  nor  think  it  a  dishonor,  but 
will  esteem  him  the  more.  I  counsel  you  to  declare 
your  heart  to  that  lady  whom  you  love,  and  to  pray 
her  to  look  upon  you  with  favor.  There  is  no  woman 
in  the  world  who  would  scorn  you  for  her  knight  and 
troubadour." 

As  she  finished,  Biatritz  lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  and 
at  her  glance  Raimbaut  threw  himself  on  his  knees. 

"My  Lady  Biatritz,  right  well  you  know  it  is  none 
other  than  yourself  who  are  the  lady  of  my  praise. 
None  other  will  I  ever  sing.  Unless  you  accept  my 
devotion,  I  care  not  to  live." 

For  a  moment  she  looked  on  Raimbaut,  whose  head 
was  bowed  and  whose  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
ground.  Again  her  face  alternately  flushed  and 
paled. 

"  Messire  Raimbaut,  since  I  was  a  child,  I  have 
known  of  you.  You  are  my  brother's  friend  and 
comrade-in-arms.  I  told  no  more  than  truth  when  I 
said  that  you  were  such  as  no  lady  in  the  world  would 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

scorn.  I  accept  you  as  my  knight  and  troubadour. 
I  am  glad  to  be  your  friend  and  your  Lady  of  Praise. 
I  bid  you  strive,  to  excel  in  word  and  worth." 

She  held  to  him  her  hand,  and  Raimbaut  touched 
his  lips  to  the  white  fingers  as  if  she  were  a  saint 
indeed.  After  a  pause,  she  said,  — 

"  You  have  told  me  that  you  have  experienced 
only  little  loves,  light  passions,  passing  fancies.  You 
declare  you  will  never  again  sing  of  any  other  than 
myself,  yet  you  have  praised  many  gracious  chate- 
laines and  fair  demoiselles,  as  becomes,  a  gallant 
troubadour.  Do  you  remember  your  first  song  in 
praise  of  a  fair  lady?  " 

"  It  was  scarce  a  song  at  all,"  replied  Raimbaut. 
"  When  I  arrived  at  Toulouse,  footsore  and  weary 
after  my  tramp  from  Vacqueiras,  I  pleased  Count 
Raimon  with  my  singing,  and  Bernart  begged  that  I 
be  taken  into  the  palace  as  a  squire.  The  Count  of 
Polignac,  who  did  not  love  me,  suggested  that  I  be 
tested,  and  the  Lady  Ermengarda  gave  me  as  a  task 
fourteen  lines  to  write.  I  succeeded  by  a  miracle, 
helped  by  the  favor  of  the  Countess  Bellisenda  and 
the  fair  Alazais.  The  latter  had  been  wondrous  kind 
to  me  at  Beaucaire,  and  '  My  lady's  flower-like  face  ' 
was  writen  in  praise  of  her.  I  copied  the  words  on  a 
piece  of  parchment  and  scarce  touched  my  lute  as  I 
spoke  them.  Sometimes  I  am  traitor  to  my  art,  and 
think  the  deepest  feeling  cannot  be  expressed  by 
trifling  notes  which  wander  here  and  there." 

"  Indeed,"  declared  Biatritz  thoughtfully,  "  I  am 
382 


SONGS  TO  BIATRITZ 

sure  that  strong  emotion  is  always  badly  wedded 
when  it  is  joined  to  shallow  song.  Your  first  task 
shall  be  to  write  fourteen  lines  to  me.  You  shall  pen 
them  on  a  fair  piece  of  parchment,  and  recite  them  in 
this  arbor." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  yet  will 
it  be  a  hard  task  to  confine  my  praise  of  you  to  such  a 
narrow  space." 

That  very  evening  in  the  crowded  hall,  he  sang  of 
Biatritz  so  plainly  that  there  was  little  doubt  of  his 
meaning.  At  this  there  was  great  disappointment, 
and  not  a  few  fair  ladies  of  Piedmont  claimed  that 
Raimbaut  should  have  chosen  a  chatelaine  of  more 
experience.  Many  declared  that  it  was  contrary  to 
the  very  spirit  of  the  Gay  Science  for  a  troubadour  to 
take  a  young  demoiselle  for  his  Lady  of  Song.  Even 
Bonifaz  looked  troubled  when  he  learned  the  truth. 

The  news  passed  from  lip  to  lip  until  it  became 
known  in  every  castle  of  Provence  and  Languedoc. 
When  it  reached  Beziers,  Alazais  listened  discon- 
tentedly to  the  songs  of  Arnaut.  She  had  hoped  that 
some  day  Raimbaut  might  remember  his  first  love. 

Ermengarda  rejoiced  openly  and  declared,  — 

"  Now  we  shall  hear  songs  such  as  he  has  never 
sung  before." 

Count  Raimon  congratulated  him  in  a  message 
written  by  Bernart,  to  which  the  old  troubadour 
added,  — 

"  You  can  never  go  wrong,  if  you  follow  your 
heart." 

383 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

It  was  not  long  before  the  songs  of  Raimbaut  in 
praise  of  Biatritz  became  so  famous  that  no  joglar 
could  be  sure  of  a  welcome  unless  he  could  sing  them. 
Indeed,  there  was  a  furor  over  his  "  Garros  "  such  as 
no  song  had  called  forth  since  Bernart's  "  Whene'er 
the  lark's  glad  wing  I  see!  " 

Yet  it  was  not  the  chanson  sung  before  guest  and 
stranger  which  pleased  Biatritz  most.  Again  and 
again  she  received  from  Raimbaut  bits  of  parchment 
on  which  were  traced  fourteen  lines  in  which  he  had 
jewelled  her  praise. 

"  Brown  as  the  summer  twilight  are  your  eyes, 
Soft  as  the  shadowy  dusk,  when  night  is  near, 
And  one  by  one  the  hermit  stars  appear 
To  bless  the  blackness  of  the  lonely  skies. 
Your  glance  is  like  the  West,  where  passion  dies 
And  only  prayer  is  left,  prayer  and  the  dear 
Dream  of  a  Perfect  Love.     I  seem  to  hear  — 
When  in  your  eyes  I  look  —  the  sound  arise 

"  Of  distant  bells  tolling  the  Angelus, 
The  sound  of  bells  blown  by  a  fragrant  breeze. 
It  is  the  holy  hour  when  on  his  knees 
The  pale  monk  falls  to  worship;  even  thus 
My  soul  would  bow,  when  in  your  eyes  I  see 
God's  star  of  love  that  lights  eternity." 

This  was  given  her  one  evening  after  supper,  and 
she  took  it  to  her  room,  where  she  read  it  over  and 
over.  In  spite  of  its  intensity  there  was  not  the  least 
hint  of  passion.  It  seemed  to  her  to  be  the  perfect 
expression  of  devotion. 

Then  sonnet  followed  sonnet,  each  one  ornamented 

384 


SONGS  TO  BIATRITZ 

more  elaborately  than  its  predecessor.  Beginning 
with  little  flourishes,  as  if  the  pen  were  carried  away 
by  a  vagrant  wind  of  fancy,  there  appeared  floriated 
initial  letters;  then  came  a  decorated  border  with 
colors  red  and  blue,  and  finally,  the  manuscript  was 
illuminated  with  flecks  of  gold  like  a  missal,  for 
Raimbaut  had  acquired  the  scribe's  fine  art  in  the 
course  of  his  wanderings. 

Biatritz  kept  the  parchments  in  a  Venetian  casket, 
and  gloated  over  them  as  a  miser  over  his  riches. 
There  was  one  beginning,  — 

"  Only  her  eyes  are  mine,  only  her  eyes!  " 

There  was  another,  — 

"If  I  should  say,  Sweetheart,  there  is  no  king 
But  Love,  the  absolute;  there  is  no  throne 
But  that  on  which  he  sits"  ; 

and  a  more  precious  sonnet  yet,  — 

"Slow  as  a  queen  she  moves,  and  for  a  crown 
Her  wreath  of  hair  is  black  as  Juno's  frown, 
And  fragrant  as  a  rose  of  Paradise." 

So  the  days  and  the  weeks  went  by,  till  one  night 
Biatritz  took  a  new  sonnet  to  her  chamber.  When 
she  read  it  the  first  time,  her  face  flushed  with  happi- 
ness. Again  and  again  he  had  praised  the  glory  of 
her  hair,  but  now  he  had  written  of  nothing  else. 

"Her  hair  is  like  a  shadow  of  the  night 
In  some  enchanted  forest,  which  no  track 
May  traverse,  and  where  not  a  branch  doth  lack 
Its  happy  spirit  whispering  of  delight. 

385 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

The  sun  can  make  no  change:  however  bright 
He  shineth  on  her  tresses,  they  give  back 
No  swiftly  answering  gleam,  but  doubly  black 
They  show  above  her  forehead's  dream  of  white. 

"And  so  I  treasure  them.     I  know  how  sweet 
The  flowers  are  that  blossom  in  the  shade, 
How  strong  the  love  that  is  not  easy  made, 
But  blooms  in  spite  of  all  the  clouds  that  greet. 
Yet,  O  my  love!  what  dangers  would  I  dare 
To  reach  the  shadow  of  thy  loosened  hair!" 

It  was  only  when  she  read  the  sonnet  a  second  time 
that  she  discovered  herself  repeating  the  last  lines 
over  and  over  again,  — 

"Yet,  O  my  love!  what  dangers  would  I  dare 
To  reach  the  shadow  of  thy  loosened  hair!" 

What  was  there  about  these  words  that  left  a  taste 
half-delicious,  half-bitter?  She  found  herself  linger- 
ing over  them,  until  there  came  into  her  heart  a  feel- 
ing which  for  the  moment  she  did  not  try  to  restrain. 
Then  the  blood  rushed  into  her  face,  she  covered  her 
hot  cheeks  with  her  hand,  and  turning  to  her  embroid- 
ery frame,  busied  herself  with  the  bright  worsteds. 

The  next  verses  contained  no  touch  of  passion.  As 
she  read  them  carefully,  she  could  not  find  the  least 
word  at  which  to  take  offence.  At  this  she  was  re- 
lieved, for  she  feared  lest  Raimbaut  should  try  to 
cross  the  invisible  barrier  she  had  raised. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE   ROBE   OF   BONIFAZ 

BONIFAZ  had  gathered  about  him  a  little  clump  of 
spears  with  which  he  galloped  about  the  country. 
They  were  young  men,  ready  to  follow  their  leader  in 
any  deed  of  daring.  Occasionally  they  joined  the 
retainers  of  Monferrat,  and  fought  against  the  men  of 
Vercelli.  More  often,  however,  their  errand  was  to 
right  some  injustice  or  to  punish  an  oppressor  of  the 
weak.  So  well  was  it  known  that  Bonifaz  of  Mon- 
ferrat was  open  to  any  just  appeal,  that  scarcely  a 
week  passed  without  some  demand  upon  him.  He 
chose  his  followers  to  suit  his  errand ;  sometimes  rid- 
ing with  his  squires  only,  sometimes  taking  a  consid- 
erable body  of  men.  On  these  forays  Raimbaut  was 
often  his  sole  companion,  and,  as  comrades-in-arms, 
their  lives  were  full  of  adventure. 

It  was  early  summer  when  Aimonet,  an  old  joglar, 
brought  news  that  Jacobina,  heiress  of  the  earldom 
of  Ventimiglia,  was  persecuted  by  her  uncle,  who  had 
planned  to  carry  her  off  to  Sardinia  and  marry  her 
there  against  her  will.  The  news  came  at  supper- 
time.  Aimonet  was  barely  able  to  tell  his  story, 
having  abandoned  his  foundered  horse  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill. 

Bonifaz  left  his  dish  of  roast  peacock  steaming  on 
the  table,  commanding  Raimbaut  and  his  five  squires 

387 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

to  arm  hastily.  They  were  away  within  the  quarter- 
hour.  Biatritz  had  bidden  them  a  hurried  farewell, 
and  then  climbed  the  stairs  listlessly  to  the  library, 
for  she  could  not  eat.  Many  times  she  had  been  de- 
serted as  suddenly,  but  never  before  had  she  felt  so 
lonely  and  depressed.  She  wrought  at  her  tapes- 
try until  she  found  herself  absent-mindedly  placing 
a  star  amid  the  green  threads  of  the  foliage.  Then 
she  betook  herself  to  bed.  For  a  long  time  she  lay 
awake,  praying  that  Bonifaz  and  Raimbaut  might  be 
preserved  from  danger  and  restored  to  her  in  safety. 
The  dawn  was  brightening  when  at  last  she  fell  asleep. 

Bonifaz  had  shouted  as  he  disappeared  through  the 
gate,  —  "  You  may  look  for  us  within  the  week  " ;  but 
seven  weary  days  passed,  and  another  seven.  She 
told  herself  of  a  score  of  accidents  which  might  have 
detained  them,  but  as  day  followed  day,  she  became 
possessed  of  a  thousand  fears.  These  presentiments 
were  intensified  by  a  brief  visit  from  Eleanora,  who 
was  anxious  for  her  husband's  safety.  She  spent 
many  hours  on  her  knees  in  the  little  church,  finding 
her  only  consolation  in  prayer. 

A  full  month  had  passed  when  the  cavalcade  rode 
back  again  into  the  castle.  The  rain  was  pouring  in 
torrents,  so  that  Biatritz  could  not  distinguish  one 
rider  from  another  as  she  peered  eagerly  out  of  the 
window.  She  counted  them,  however,  with  her  fin- 
gers on  her  throat,  and  when  she  found  the  number 
was  complete,  she  sank  into  her  chair.  In  another 
moment  Bonifaz  held  her  in  his  arms.  He  told  her 

388 


THE  ROBE  OF  BONIFAZ 

they  had  succeeded  in  their  quest,  but  had  been 
delayed  by  a  misfortune  to  Raimbaut.  He  had  re- 
ceived a  wound,  not  serious  in  itself,  which  had  left 
him  very  weak  from  loss  of  blood.  He  had  been  for- 
bidden to  put  foot  in  stirrup  for  a  fortnight,  but  he 
was  quite  out  of  danger  and  would  soon  regain  his 
strength. 

After  two  days  in  bed,  Raimbaut  appeared,  pale 
and  listless,  and  the  late  afternoon  found  him  reclin- 
ing on  the  green  turf  which  fringed  the  Arbor  of 
Dreams.  His  mantle  was  spread  beneath  him,  and 
he  looked  up  into  the  face  of  Biatritz,  which  was 
turned  toward  him  full  of  sympathy  and  solicitude. 

"  If  it  will  not  weary  you,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  of 
your  adventures.  I  promise  not  to  interrupt  with  a 
single  word.  Alas!  I  have  learned  silence  during  the 
long  days  when  I  feared  every  hour  might  bring  me  a 
message  of  death." 

"  I  would  rather  sit  here  in  solitude,  though  never 
again  do  I  expect  to  ride  on  a  quest  more  merry  or 
more  venturesome.  Early  one  morning  we  slack- 
ened rein  at  the  gate  of  Genoa,  only  to  learn  that  the 
Lady  Jacobina  had  already  passed  by  on  the  way  to 
Pisa.  Hastily  changing  horses,  we  reached  Spezzia 
at  noon,  and,  changing  again,  we  came  to  Pisa  just  at 
nightfall.  As  we  were  about  to  enter  we  met  a  cav- 
alcade, in  the  midst  of  which  Bonifaz  recognized 
Jacobina,  although  she  was  disguised.  Following  at 
a  distance,  we  came  to  the  port,  where  we  discovered 
a  ship  just  ready  to  sail. 

389 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  All  this  time  the  demoiselle  made  no  outcry;  but, 
just  as  she  was  about  to  be  carried  to  the  deck,  she 
began  to  struggle  and  call  loudly  for  help.  At  this 
moment  we  assailed  her  abductors  so  fiercely  that 
they  broke  in  disorder.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  lifting 
her  to  my  saddle  and  riding  away,  followed  by  Boni- 
faz  and  the  squires,  no  one  of  whom  had  received  any 
serious  hurt. 

"  For  a  little  while  it  seemed  as  if  the  game  was 
ours.  The  shouting  on  the  water  and  the  shore 
ceased.  Then  we  heard  the  clatter  of  horse  and  foot 
pursuing  us.  We  spurred  through  the  darkness,  and 
at  midnight  had  made  such  speed  that  there  was  no 
sound  except  the  wind  in  the  trees  and  the  ripple  of 
the  water  on  the  shore  close  to  which  our  path  led. 
We  then  concealed  ourselves  in  a  dense  forest  and 
waited  until  the  following  evening.  We  believed  we 
had  thrown  them  off  our  tracks,  when  we  saw  before 
us,  barring  our  way,  so  many  knights  with  shining 
helmets  and  flying  banners,  that  we  again  took  refuge 
in  the  wooded  hills  between  Alberga  and  Finar. 
There  we  lay  hidden  in  a  cave  for  two  days;  nothing 
had  we  either  to  eat  or  drink.  We  heard  on  all  sides 
the  cries  of  our  enemies;  but  almost  by  a  miracle 
escaped  discovery. 

"  On  the  third  day  we  left  the  cave,  and,  making 
a  wide  circuit,  eluded  the  Pisans,  but  came  instead 
upon  a  company  of  bandits.  They  held  the  pass  of 
Belhestar,  lurking  to  plunder  the  passers-by.  We 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  Behind  us  were  the  Pisans, 

390 


THE  ROBE  OF  BONIFAZ 

not  less  than  two-score  knights  and  men-at-arms; 
and  before  us,  guarding  the  pass,  were  a  dozen  brig- 
ands against  whom  we  could  only  fight  on  foot,  for 
there  was  not  room  to  use  our  destriers. 

"  We  decided  finally  we  must  go  on.  Leaving 
Bertaldon  and  Hugonet  to  guard  Jacobina  and  to 
keep  the  horses,  the  rest  of  us  drew  our  swords  and 
attacked  the  robber  bands  so  fiercely  that  we  cleared 
the  pass. 

"  We  dined  joyously  on  food  left  behind  by  the 
robbers,  and  at  evening  reached  the  castle  of  Baron 
Eyssi,  whose  eldest  son  had  long  loved  the  Lady 
Jacobina.  Next  morning  we  saw  the  lovers  married. 
In  the  afternoon,  assisted  by  the  retainers  of  the  good 
baron,  we  galloped  on  to  Ventimiglia,  where  we  found 
Jacobina' s  own  castle  so  poorly  guarded  that  we  took 
it  by  storm. 

"  Here  we  waited  two  weary  weeks  before  I  was 
able  to  sit  upright  in  the  saddle,  for  I  had  received  a 
wound  at  the  pass  of  Belhestar  which  was  reopened 
in  the  last  struggle.  They  were  very  kind  to  me;  but 
I  never  ceased  to  long  for  the  Castle  of  the  Vale. 
Truly  it  seemed  the  very  heaven  of  my  soul,  which 
I  must  reach  or  die." 

"  There  is  but  one  Heaven,"  declared  Biatritz, 
"  by  whose  kindness  you  were  preserved  from  death. 
Tell  me,  did  you  pray  Saint  Martin  in  your  time  of 
danger? " 

"There  was  scarce  time  for  a  petition,"  answered 
Raimbaut,  "  so  busy  were  we  with  our  swords.  But 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

my  heart  is  now  full  of  gratitude.  Have  I  not  made 
my  gift  to  the  Church?  And,  as  you  see,  I  have 
severed  my  mantle  from  collar  to  hem,  as  in  the 
old  days  when  I  followed  closely  in  the  footsteps 
of  my  patron." 

11  It  is  a  good  sign,"  declared  Biatritz.  "  I  did  not 
fail  to  notice  it  and  my  heart  was  gladdened.  We 
can  find  peace  only  at  the  foot  of  the  Cross." 

Raimbaut  listened  reverently,  feeling  strangely 
languid,  for  he  had  overtaxed  his  strength.  All  un- 
consciously he  began  to  nod,  and  his  head  sank  upon 
the  arm  of  the  chair  in  which  Biatritz  sat.  She, 
fearing  that  he  might  slip  to  the  ground,  and  that  the 
shock  of  the  fall  would  reopen  the  wound,  scarcely 
healed,  gently  moved  and  placed  his  head  upon  her 
knee. 

The  shadows  were  beginning  to  lengthen.  She  had 
passed  so  many  sleepless  nights  that  it  was  not  long 
before  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  slumbered 
peacefully. 

It  was  thus  Bonifaz  found  them.  A  crescent  moon 
hung  in  the  velvet  sky,  and  shone  upon  Biatritz1 
face.  On  the  soft  turf  lay  Raimbaut,  his  head  resting 
against  her  knee,  her  white  fingers  tangled  in  his  hair. 
For  a  moment  anger  flamed  into  the  cheek  of  Boni- 
faz. Then  he  understood,  and  for  a  long  time  he 
watched  them  as  they  slept.  Finally  he  drew  his 
robe  from  his  shoulder,  and  stretched  it  over  his  sister 
and  his  friend.  So  he  left  them,  the  folds  of  his  gar- 
ment covering  both. 

392 


THE  ROBE  OF   BONIFAZ 

When  Raimbaut  awoke  and  found  his  head  pil- 
lowed on  Biatritz'  lap,  his  soul  was  filled  with  ecs- 
tasy. He  saw  that  she  still  slumbered  and  rose 
cautiously  that  he  might  not  disturb  her.  The  robe 
fell  to  the  ground.  He  discovered  it  was  that  of 
Bonifaz.  The  air  was  soft,  and  he  realized  that  it 
was  not  for  protection  that  the  garment  enveloped 
their  sleeping  forms.  Plainer  than  words  it  told 
how  Bonifaz  trusted  in  the  honor  of  his  friend  and 
comrade. 

For  a  moment  Raimbaut  gazed  on  Biatritz,  loath 
to  leave  her;  then  threw  the  robe  over  his  arm  and 
hurried  from  the  garden.  He  crossed  the  courtyard, 
climbed  the  stairs,  and  hardly  waited  for  an  answer 
to  his  knock  before  he  entered  Bonifaz'  room.  His 
friend  was  seated  at  a  table  on  which  rested  a  scroll  of 
parchment.  He  looked  up,  a  smile  upon  his  face,  but 
Raimbaut  was  very  serious  as  he  said,  — 

"  Here  is  your  robe.  I  have  never  been  false  to 
you." 

"  I  doubted  you  but  for  one  instant,"  replied 
Bonifaz. 

"  I  swear  that  you  may  always  trust  me  to  the 
uttermost." 

"  Indeed,  my  friend,  to  prove  my  confidence  I  will 
tell  you  something  which  concerns  me  deeply.  I 
wish  to  ask  your  assistance." 

"  You  may  speak  as  if  to  your  soul's  confessor.  I 
will  make  any  sacrifice  to  help  you." 

"  I  must  tell  you,"  began  Bonifaz,  "  that  before 
393 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

my  father  set  out  for  Palestine  it  was  agreed  that  the 
Count  of  Courthezon  should  marry  Biatritz.  Naught 
was  said  to  her,  for  she  was  too  young  to  be  told  of 
the  alliance.  Guilhem  comes  again  to-morrow.  I 
have  before  me  a  message  from  my  father  in  which 
my  duty  is  plainly  stated.  Biatritz  is  one  who  keeps 
the  secret  of  her  own  heart,  and  I  love  her  far  too 
much  to  force  her  inclination.  I  hope  Guilhem  will 
succeed  in  winning  her  affections.  If  he  fail,  it  will 
sadly  disappoint  my  old  father,  who  is  battling  for 
the  glory  of  the  Cross,  for  Guilhem  has  promised  that 
on  his  wedding-day  a  huge  sum  of  gold  shall  be  given 
to  help  the  cause  of  Christ." 

"  What,  then,  is  to  be  my  duty  in  the  carrying  out 
of  this  plan?  " 

"  I  have  not  failed  to  see,"  continued  Bonifaz, 
"  the  strong  friendship  between  Biatritz  and  your- 
self. I  know  she  has  great  confidence  in  your  judg- 
ment. Will  you  try  to  teach  her  to  love  the  man 
whom  she  should  marry?  " 

"  God  knows,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  I  would  give 
my  right  hand  to  help  you  in  any  project  which  is 
close  to  your  heart.  Believe  me  when  I  say  it  is  not 
because  Guilhem  was  unfriendly  to  me  that  I  hesitate 
to  assist  you.  Listen,  Bonifaz:  do  you  think  your 
sister  Biatritz  will  be  happy  as  his  wife?  " 

At  this  direct  question  Bonifaz  was  plainly 
troubled. 

"  I  confess,"  said  he  at  last,  "  that  I  do  not  love 
Guilhem,  though  I  know  nothing  against  him  save 

394 


THE  ROBE  OF  BONIFAZ 

the  sins  of  youthful  blood.  I  dislike  him  most  for  his 
mocking  disposition.  But  I  believe  that  he  sincerely 
loves  Biatritz.  There  are  a  dozen  young  barons  who 
are  desirous  of  marrying  her,  yet,  truly,  I  know  not 
one  I  should  prefer  to  Guilhem.  If  she  takes  not  a 
positive  dislike  to  him,  I  shall  do  all  I  can  to  bring 
this  marriage  to  pass.  A  demoiselle  of  noble  family 
cannot  choose  a  man  to  her  liking.  I  confess  I  had 
no  passion  for  my  Eleanora  when  I  married  her,  yet 
I  have  come  to  love  her  most  devotedly.  Tell  me, 
my  friend,  can  I  depend  upon  your  help?  " 

He  put  his  hand  on  Raimbaut's  arm,  but  the  latter 
drew  away,  and,  walking  to  the  window,  stood  for  a 
long  time  looking  out  over  the  valley,  seeing  nothing. 
He  told  himself  that  if  he  were  the  Count  of  Courthe- 
zon,  he  could  win  the  love  of  Biatritz,  and  his  heart 
throbbed  with  a  fierce  resentment  against  hostile 
fate,  which  had  made  him  a  poor  troubadour.  But, 
when  he  came  to  himself,  he  decided  quickly  that  it 
would  be  worse  than  useless  to  attempt  to  change 
Bonifaz'  mind.  It  took  but  little  longer  to  be  cer- 
tain that  he  could  not  grant  his  friend's  request. 
When  he  thought  of  staying  at  Monferrat  to  watch 
the  wooing,  even  the  breeze  from  the  pine  trees  was 
bitter  in  his  nostrils.  He  turned  to  Bonifaz,  who  sat 
waiting  patiently. 

"  Believe  me,  when  I  say  I  am  sure  that  the  Lady 
Biatritz  is  too  spiritual  to  be  happy  as  the  wife  of 
Guilhem.  For  this  reason  I  cannot  help  him.  I  am 
afraid  that  if  I  stay  with  you  I  shall,  in  spite  of  my- 

395 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

self,  say  something  which  will  influence  Biatritz 
against  this  marriage  on  which  you  have  set  your 
heart.  It  is  best  that  I  go  away.  I  promised  the 
Count  of  Savona  long  ago  that  I  would  spend  a  fort- 
night with  him.  I  can  take  this  opportunity  for  my 
visit,  and,  passing  through  Genoa,  can  see  if  any 
message  has  been  sent  me  from  Vacqueiras.  I  have 
had  strange  forebodings  of  late  that  all  is  not  well 
with  my  father." 

Bonifaz  rose  from  his  seat,  and  put  both  hands  on 
his  friend's  shoulder. 

"  My  good  Raimbaut,  I  am  sure  your  decision  is  an 
honest  one;  yet  I  will  not  have  you  leave  me  thus. 
With  your  promise  not  in  any  way  to  oppose  the  suit, 
I  am  content." 

For  a  little  Raimbaut  hesitated;  then  he  heard  a 
light  step  on  the  stair  and  the  rustle  of  silken  gar- 
ments and  said,  — 

"  I  will  stay  with  you." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

ADORATION 

THE  next  morning  Raimbaut  took  his  falcon  and 
departed  from  the  Castle  as  soon  as  Matins  was  over. 
He  did  not  stop  for  breakfast,  and  found  no  appetite 
later  for  the  food  which  he  carried  in  his  pouch.  He 
wandered  over  the  fields  and  through  the  woods, 
careless  where  he  went ;  and  not  once  did  he  loosen  his 
hawk. 

Mid-morning  found  him  riding  aimlessly  toward 
Valenza.  Suddenly  his  reverie  was  disturbed  by  the 
sound  of  an  approaching  cavalcade.  There  was  the 
clatter  of  arms  and  trappings,  the  ripple  of  gay  laugh- 
ter, the  echoes  of  a  strong  voice  which  broke  every 
now  and  again  into  snatches  of  song.  Next  he  saw 
splashes  of  color  through  the  openings  of  the  hedge, 
the  flash  of  sunbeams  on  polished  steel,  and  a  score  of 
horsemen  came  swinging  around  a  curve  in  the  road. 

It  was  a  brave  array.  The  destriers  were  mettled, 
their  housings  were  new,  and  the  party  cantered  along 
as  heedlessly  as  if  the  road  led  through  Arcadia.  The 
riders  were  clad  in  Genoese  velvet,  silks,  satins,  and 
brocades,  showing  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow. 
There  had  been  a  shower  in  the  night,  so  that  hardly 
a  fleck  of  dust  dimmed  their  effulgence.  It  was  evi- 
dent they  rode  on  a  peaceful  errand,  for  only  the  men- 
at-arms  who  accompanied  them  wore  any  harness. 

397 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

There  was  something  in  their  gaiety  which  offended 
Raimbaut's  troubled  spirit  like  a  personal  affront. 
He  rode  moodily  along  without  looking  up,  until  some 
one  cried  out, —  "  Oho!  Messire  Raimbaut  of  Vacquei- 
ras!  Is  this  the  way  you  pass  your  friends?  "  and 
Raimbaut  found  himself  confronted  by  Guilhem.  He 
was  decked  out  as  if  for  a  wedding.  From  the  plume 
which  hung  low  as  his  shoulder,  to  his  shoes  of  em- 
bossed leather,  every  article  of  his  apparel  was  a 
marvel.  His  eyes  were  bright,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his 
countenance  wreathed  in  smiles.  Raimbaut,  clad  in 
sombre  gray,  felt  that  the  contrast  was  more  than 
physical,  and,  as  he  looked  at  Guilhem,  there  came  to 
him  a  feeling  of  hopelessness.  What  chance  had  he, 
a  poor  troubadour,  against  this  young  noble? 

"  Whence  come,  and  whither  go  you?  "  cried  out 
Guilhem. 

"  I  am  hawking,  as  you  see,"  replied  Raimbaut. 

"  And  faith,  you  have  not  killed  a  sparrow!  Not  a 
step  further  shall  you  go.  You  must  ride  back  with 
me  to  the  Castle.  I  am  bound  thither  to  present  my- 
self as  a  suitor  for  the  hand  of  the  fair  Biatritz.  You 
shall  sing  the  praises  of  the  most  beautiful  demoiselle 
in  the  wide  world,  and  incidentally  whisper  to  her 
some  of  the  many  virtues  you  know  that  I  possess." 

"  I  cannot  go  with  you.  I  have  an  errand  at 
Valenza  which  will  not  brook  delay." 

"Tell  me  of  no  errand!  There  can  be  nothing 
half  so  important  as  this  affair  of  mine!  I  swear  that 
even  holy  Jerusalem  is  of  no  consequence  to-day 

398 


ADORATION 

compared  with  the  little  village  of  Pomaro.  Thither 
we  make  our  pilgrimage.  I  will  take  no  denial :  you 
must  go  with  me." 

As  Raimbaut  looked  at  Guilhem  and  listened  to 
his  words,  he  could  not  fail  to  note  how  much  in 
earnest  he  was,  nor  how  the  old  mockery  had  disap- 
peared before  the  strong  purpose  that  had  taken  pos- 
session of  him.  He  was  forced  to  admit,  in  spite  of 
himself,  that  Guilhem  loved  Biatritz  deeply,  and 
desired  her  sincerely.  Indeed,  it  was  only  after  re- 
peated requests  that  Guilhem  accepted  Raimbaut's 
refusal  as  final.  He  then  summoned  a  man-at-arms 
who  carried  a  small  cask  of  wine  on  his  saddle,  filled  a 
silver  goblet  to  the  brim,  and  cried  out,  almost  with 
a  challenge  in  his  voice,  — 

"  I  have  made  a  vow  that  no  one  shall  pass  me  this 
day  who  will  not  drink  to  the  health  of  the  fairest 
in  all  Christendom.  So  come,  Messire  Raimbaut! 
Empty  this  goblet  to  the  honor  of  the  peerless  Lady 
of  Monferrat!  I  swear  you  shall  swallow  the  last 
drop." 

Raimbaut  took  the  goblet  and  drank  the  very 
dregs,  whispering  under  his  breath, — 

"  To  Biatritz,  my  Biatritz!  " 

Then  the  gay  cavalcade  rode  on,  leaving  him  to  his 
solitude.  He  had  planned  to  wander  the  whole  day 
in  the  fields,  but  noon  found  him  returned  to  the 
castle,  in  spite  of  his  determination.  Everywhere 
were  new  faces  and  unfamiliar  figures,  and  the  rafters 
rang  with  merry  words  and  jolly  laughter.  He  felt 

399 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

strangely  lonely,  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway  for  a 
moment,  quite  unrecognized.  He  saw  the  seat 
which  he  had  occupied  ever  since  his  arrival  taken 
by  another.  He  should  have  expected  that  the  place 
of  honor  by  the  side  of  Biatritz  would  be  given  to 
her  suitor,  but  his  heart  was  very  sore.  Yet  as  he 
scrutinized  Guilhem  with  a  critical  eye,  his  admira- 
tion almost  overcame  the  dislike  which  possessed 
him.  Handsome  beyond  all  others  in  the  room,  the 
Count  of  Courthezon  was  the  very  model  of  a  young 
gallant.  His  rich  apparel  showed  the  restraint  of  a 
studied  refinement,  and  the  jewels  in  his  collar 
sparkled  bravely.  He  was  talking  to  Biatritz,  who 
seemed  greatly  interested.  "  Out  of  sight,  out  of 
mind,"  muttered  Raimbaut  bitterly.  But  in  another 
moment  the  seneschal  discovered  him,  and  with  a 
beckoning  finger  showed  him  a  vacant  seat  on  the 
other  side  of  Biatritz. 

"Welcome  home!"  she  said.  "We  missed  you 
at  breakfast,  but  naught  could  we  learn  until  the 
Count  of  Courthezon  reported  he  had  met  you.  He 
tells  me  that  he  knew  you  long  ago  when  you  were  a 
boy,  and  that  he  is  eager  to  renew  the  acquaintance." 

"  Truly  am  I,"  Guilhem  added,  as  he  leaned  for- 
ward and  looked  at  Raimbaut.  "  Many  years  ago, 
ere  I  had  learned  either  manners  or  morals,  I  was  very 
rude  to  you,  and  was  properly  punished  for  my  of- 
fence. I  wish  now  to  atone  for  my  incivility,  and 
am  anxious  to  show  that  I  have  acquired  courtesy 
with  the  years." 

400 


ADORATION 

"  Well  spoken!  "  exclaimed  Biatritz.  "  It  pleases 
me  to  hear  a  man  confess  a  wrong  so  fairly." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  Raimbaut,  "  when  I  came  to 
Courthezon  I  was  uncouth  as  any  peasant  lad  from 
the  hills.  To  sharpen  the  dull  blade  one  must  first 
use  a  rough  stone.  I  received  naught  but  what  was 
good  for  me,  and  have  only  thanks  for  the  interest 
Messire  Guilhem  then  took  in  my  education." 

Although  Guilhem  spoke  with  every  appearance 
of  cordiality,  and  Raimbaut  answered  with  seeming 
friendliness,  there  was  something  in  the  tones  of  their 
voices  which  caught  the  attention  of  Biatritz.  In 
spite  of  her  dreaminess,  she  was  keenly  susceptible  to 
such  impressions,  and  she  looked  wonderingly  from 
one  to  the  other.  There  was  a  question  on  her  lips, 
but  just  at  that  moment  Bonifaz  rose,  and,  making  a 
cordial  speech  in  recognition  of  his  guest,  proposed 
a  toast  to  the  "  gallant  young  knight  who  graces 
Pomaro  with  his  presence." 

When  the  toast  was  drunk,  Guilhem  replied  with 
a  perfection  of  speech  and  manner  which  won  the  ad- 
miration of  every  one.  He  stood,  a  handsome  figure, 
between  Bonifaz  and  Biatritz;  and  speaking  Italian 
with  scarce  a  hint  of  the  Provencal  accent,  told  of  his 
appreciation  of  the  hearty  welcome  he  had  received. 
His  thoughts  were  not  very  deep,  nor  were  his  words 
very  serious,  but  there  was  an  air  of  the  travelled 
man  of  the  world,  which  made  Bonifaz  appear  almost 
rude  by  comparison. 

As  he  finished,  the  hall  rang  with  applause,  and 
401 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

when  he  took  his  seat,  he  devoted  himself  most  assid- 
uously to  Biatritz.  She,  not  wishing  to  be  discour- 
teous, was  forced  to  neglect  Raimbaut,  although 
she  did  not  fail  to  turn  to  him  whenever  Guilhem 
allowed  her  the  opportunity. 

After  the  feast  Raimbaut  sang  at  the  request  of 
Bonifaz.  Notwithstanding  the  Piedmontese  had 
heard  him  many  times,  they  insisted  that  he  should 
sing  again  and  again.  He  ended  with  the  little  song 
of  the  brook,  written  by  Bernart;  and  as  this  was 
understood  from  long  usage  to  be  his  final  effort,  there 
were  cries  for  a  song  from  Guilhem. 

At  this  the  Count  of  Courthezon  rose  to  his  feet  and 
said,  — 

"  Alas,  my  friends,  Saint  Cecily  did  not  smile  upon 
my  birth.  But  had  I  the  gift  of  melody,  I  should 
never  dare  sing  after  Messire  Raimbaut  had  shown 
us  the  perfect  fruitage  of  the  troubadour's  art." 

Renewed  applause  broke  forth  at  this  very  pretty 
compliment.  As  the  two  young  men  stood  in  full 
view  of  all  the  guests,  first  one  and  then  another 
noticed  the  resemblance  between  them.  Of  the  same 
height,  Raimbaut  was  broader  at  the  shoulder  and 
more  strongly  knit.  He  had  been  browned  by  the 
sun,  kissed  by  the  wind,  battered  by  the  storm.  The 
lines  of  his  face  showed  the  effects  of  his  struggles 
with  a  world  not  always  friendly. 

Guilhem  was  fair  and  smooth,  his  hair  carefully 
dressed;  and  he  carried  himself  with  a  confidence 
quite  foreign  to  Raimbaut's  attitude  of  proud  reserve. 

402 


ADORATION 

Yet  as  they  stood  together  that  day  in  the  great  hall  of 
the  Castle  of  the  Vale,  they  might  easily  have  been 
brothers,  so  like  were  they. 

When  they  had  taken  their  seats,  Jacques  gave  an 
exhibition  of  sleight-of-hand  in  which,  by  constant 
practice,  he  had  become  wonderfully  clever  and  dex- 
terous. The  little  joglar  followed  with  his  display  of 
tumbling,  but  in  this,  alas,  he  showed  himself  less 
skilful.  In  spite  of  his  boasted  abstemiousness,  the 
temptation  of  bowl  and  platter  was  oftentimes  too 
great,  and  he  had  grown  as  plump  as  a  rabbit.  Be- 
sides this,  his  fall  had  stiffened  the  cords  of  one 
knee,  so  that  he  was  unable  now  to  perform  many 
of  those  more  exacting  feats  which  had  made  him 
famous.  But  he  still  possessed  the  same  irresistible 
smile,  which  was,  after  all,  his  most  valuable  treasure. 

When  dinner  was  over,  Raimbaut  sought  his  room 
and  tried  to  drive  away  bitter  thoughts  by  devoting 
himself  to  the  completion  of  a  sonnet  over  which  he 
had  labored  long.  The  first  lines  had  been  written 
many  weeks  before :  in  fact,  on  the  very  night  after  he 
had  seen  Biatritz  in  the  wayside  shrine.  The  sestet 
had,  so  far,  baffled  him.  The  first  part  he  had  en- 
grossed upon  the  parchment,  surrounding  the  margin 
with  a  floriated  border  of  red  and  green  and  gold. 

This  afternoon  the  elusive  words  came  flocking  to 
him.  He  penned  them  carefully  and  set  the  scroll  in 
the  sun  to  dry.  The  shadows  were  beginning  to 
lengthen  when  he  decided  to  go  to  Biatritz.  He 
could  not  hope  to  find  her  in  the  arbor,  so  he  sought 

403 


THE  SEVERED  MANTLE 

her  in  the  audience-chamber,  carrying  the  parch- 
ment in  the  pocket  of  his  tunic.  He  discovered  her 
bending  over  the  embroidery-frame.  She  looked  up, 
greeted  him  with  a  smile,  and  said,  - 

"  Alas!  The  duty  I  owed  a  guest  newly  arrived, 
made  me  seem  discourteous  to  you  at  dinner.  He  is 
a  very  attractive  man  and  has  kept  us  interested  all 
the  afternoon  with  his  tales  of  travel ;  but  I  left  him 
at  last,  hoping  to  have  a  placid  hour  with  an  old 
friend." 

"  You  were  very  good  to  think  of  me,"  replied 
Raimbaut.  "  I  fear  your  kindness  will  be  ill  paid, 
for  I  feel  neither  wise  nor  merry  to-day." 

"  Then  we  can  both  be  quiet:  it  is  the  supreme  test 
of  friendship  when  there  is  no  sense  of  vacancy  in 
long  silences.  Do  you  know,  I  was  wishing  you  had 
written  something  more  to  read  to  me!  You  must 
not  spend  so  much  labor  on  the  coloring  that  the 
words  are  delayed.  They,  after  all,  are  what  I  enjoy 
the  most." 

She  was  kinder  even  than  her  wont,  plainly  trying 
to  console  Raimbaut  for  his  disappointment,  and  he 
loved  her  with  a  devotion  which  filled  his  soul  with 
rapture.  His  eyes  were  very  eloquent. 

"  I  have  a  sonnet  finished  within  the  hour,  which  I 
have  done  my  very  best  to  make  beautiful  on  the 
parchment.  I  call  it  'Adoration.' ' 

"  Let  me  hear  it,"  commanded  Biatritz,  looking  at 
him  a  little  wonderingly. 

He  took  up  his  lute,  and  Biatritz  listened  as  he 
404 


ADORATION 

half-spoke,  half-sang  the  words,  accompanying  him- 
self with  notes  so  faint  that  they  but  hinted  of  a 
melody  wafted  from  distant  fields :  — 

"I  look  upon  thee  as  a  worshipper 
Up  to  his  saint,  in  some  high  alcove  placed; 
A  distant  saint,  white-robed,  and  tranquil-faced, 
Whom  only  patient  prayer  may  hope  to  stir. 
Content  am  I  to  be  thy  chorister, 
To  sing  thy  constant  praises,  self -effaced; 
I  think  of  thee  as  one  to  be  embraced 
By  holy  hands  alone,  that  cannot  err." 

He  repeated  the  octave  as  if  he  were  upon  his 
knees  in  prayer.  Then  he  struck  a  strange  chord, 
and  in  a  voice,  every  accent  of  which  was  changed,  he 
almost  whispered,  — 

"Yet  sometimes  to  my  heart  there  cometh  dreams 
Of  full  possession,  and  I  see  the  saint 
No  longer,  but  the  woman,  passion-faint; 
The  woman,  through  whose  veins  the  warm  blood  streams,  — 
O  sweet  earth -love!    I  then  would  lose  the  bliss 
Of  many  heavens  for  a  single  kiss." 

When  he  finished,  Biatritz  sprang  to  her  feet  with 
an  inarticulate  cry.  She  looked  at  Raimbaut  as  if 
she  would  read  his  very  soul.  Then  a  wave  of  color 
rushed  into  her  cheeks.  She  turned  from  him  and 
hurried  swiftly  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

SWEET   EARTH   LOVE 

FOR  a  long  time  Raimbaut  was  too  stunned  to 
think,  or  even  to  suffer.  He  found  himself  in  his 
own  room,  though  he  knew  not  how  he  came  there. 
He  could  not  understand  how  he  had  offended. 
There  was  something  wrong  with  the  sonnet.  What 
could  it  be?  He  repeated  it  carefully  until  he  came 
to  the  final  lines  and  their  full  meaning  dawned  upon 
him.  They  were  flooded  with  passion  such  as  a  trou- 
badour had  no  right  to  express.  It  was  no  less  pure 
than  the  adoration  with  which  he  had  gazed  upon 
Biatritz  when  he  saw  her  in  the  niche  of  the  roadside 
shrine;  yet  he  could  not  deceive  himself  with  the 
thought  that  it  was  no  more  exacting,  no  more  dan- 
gerous. He  realized  how  this  feeling  had  expressed 
itself,  involuntarily. 

"O  sweet  earth-love!  I  then  would  lose  the  bliss 
Of  many  heavens  for  a  single  kiss." 

He  determined  that  he  would,  through  sheer  power 
of  will,  bring  himself  back  to  the  attitude  of  the  first 
lines.  Yes,  he  did  worship  Biatritz:  she  was  his 
saint.  He  resolved  to  be  satisfied  with  this,  and  to 
strangle  his  new-born  passion  at  its  very  birth.  Had 
he  been  a  rich  noble,  he  might  dream  of  winning  her, 
but  for  even  the  most  famous  troubadour  there  was 

406 


SWEET  EARTH  LOVE 

no  hope.  He  might  as  well  be  a  lackey  in  the  stable, 
as  heir  to  the  poor  fief  of  Vacqueiras.  What  could 
he  offer  the  daughter  of  the  Count  of  Monferrat? 
What  could  he  expect  from  the  most  beautiful  woman 
in  the  world?  He  knew  well  that  she  was  destined 
for  marriage  with  Guilhem:  she  must  make  alliance 
with  a  powerful  family  who  could  assist  the  Mon- 
ferrata  in  their  policy.  Was  it  not  possible  for  him 
to  love  Biatritz  as  Arnaut  loved  Alazais:  to  be  con- 
tented with  a  word,  a  glance,  a  smile?  He  fell  on  his 
knees  in  the  cool  shadow  of  the  night,  and  prayed 
that  God  might  help  him  to  master  this  strong  love 
with  which  he  wrestled. 

Hour  after  hour  he  struggled,  but  when  he  rose 
at  midnight,  he  knew  that  nevermore  could  he  look 
upon  Biatritz  with  the  calm  devotion  of  a  trouba- 
dour. He  climbed  the  staircase  to  Bonifaz'  room 
and  found  his  friend  seated  at  a  table  with  a  travel- 
soiled  letter  from  his  father  before  him.  Raimbaut 
began  almost  rudely,  - 

"  It  is  my  duty,  by  our  oath  of  comradeship,  to 
tell  you  plainly  of  something  very  near  my  heart. 
Will  you  listen?  " 

"  It  is  no  less  my  duty  to  hearken  than  for  you  to 
speak." 

"  Only  last  night  did  I  give  my  pledge  in  no  wise 
to  hinder  this  suit  of  my  Lord  of  Courthezon.  That 
pledge  I  cannot  keep.  There  has  sprung  up  in  my 
heart  a  feeling  for  your  sister  which  is  no  less  devo- 
tion, though  I  love  her  as  a  man  loves  who  is  neither 

407 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

troubadour  nor  varlet.  Had  I  the  right  of  gentler 
birth,  I  would  demand  her  for  my  wife,  and  face  death 
to  win  her.  I  dread  to  see  her  lest  I  speak  plainly. 
I  dare  not  meet  Guilhem,  for  fear  I  should  throttle 
him  with  these  bare  fingers,  lacking  a  weapon. 
So  fierce  is  my  jealousy  that  I  can  do  naught  else 
in  honor  towards  you,  my  comrade,  than  to  tell  the 
truth,  and  bid  you  farewell." 

Placing  his  hands  on  his  friend's  shoulder,  Bonifaz 
looked  into  the  eyes  that  were  so  full  of  pain. 

"  Alas!  I  feared  it  would  come  to  this!  I  have  not 
been  blind.  Were  you  the  Count  of  Courthezon,  I 
would  give  you  Biatritz  gladly.  I  believe  you 
could  make  her  happy  as  could  no  other  man  who 
walks  the  earth.  My  heart  is  sore  that  I  must  agree 
with  you  that  it  is  impossible.  Though  I  have  the 
right  to  bestow  my  sister  upon  whom  I  will,  yet 
I  must  consider  the  future  of  an  ancient  family. 
Perhaps  absence  will  help  and  you  may  in  conscience 
return  to  us  again.  Wherever  you  wander,  you  will 
always  have  my  friendship." 

"  Bonifaz,  you  have  shown  your  love  for  me  in  a 
thousand  ways!  One  favor  only  I  ask  of  you.  Give 
me  some  commission  which  will  excuse  my  sudden 
departure.  I  must  away  before  the  first  light  of  the 
sun  shows  in  the  east." 

"  I  have  here,"  said  Bonifaz,  turning  to  the  table 
and  taking  from  it  a  folded  piece  of  parchment,  "  an 
important  message  to  Count  Raimon  of  Toulouse. 
You  shall  bear  it  for  me.  Our  old  master  has  at  last 

408 


SWEET  EARTH  LOVE 

been  moved  to  come  to  the  assistance  of  the  Crusade 
on  a  scale  befitting  his  wealth  and  traditions.  If  you 
will  linger  a  little  while  in  Toulouse,  I  will  join  you 
there.  I  must  follow  this  letter  in  person  as  soon 
as  I  arrange  my  affairs." 

Raimbaut  took  the  missive  and  said  farewell,  not 
trusting  himself  to  express  his  gratitude. 

"May  all  angels  guard  and  keep  you!"  said 
Bonifaz,  as  his  friend  disappeared  through  the  door- 
way. 

Through  the  long  night-watches  Raimbaut  paced 
the  floor  of  his  room,  and  with  the  first  light  of  dawn 
made  ready  for  his  departure.  Yet  Jacques  was 
wholly  unprepared  for  such  a  summons,  and  the  sun 
had  risen  when  Raimbaut  mounted  his  horse.  In 
another  moment  he  would  have  ridden  over  the 
drawbridge,  but  a  little  page  came  running  up  to  him. 

"  The  Lady  Biatritz  wishes  to  see  you  in  the 
garden,"  he  said. 

Raimbaut  dismounted  and  walked  across  the  court- 
yard, resolved  that  he  would  control  himself,  though 
the  very  thought  of  seeing  Biatritz  sent  fire  through 
his  veins. 

The  breath  of  autumn  had  changed  the  leaves  to 
russet,  gold,  and  red.  The  rising  sun  gave  a  touch  of 
glory  to  the  smiling  valley.  So  clear  was  the  air  that 
every  line  of  Monte  Rosa  was  visible,  from  the  dark 
green  forests  at  its  base  to  the  white  splendor  of  its 
lofty  head.  The  nearness  of  the  mountain  seemed  to 
Biatritz  an  omen  of  good  things,  though  all  around 

409 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

her  were  signs  of  the  dying  summer.  There  were  no 
roses  on  the  vine  that  latticed  her  arbor,  but  in  the 
garden  a  few  late  flowers  bloomed,  and  the  paths 
were  strewn  with  fading  petals. 

As  she  sat  with  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  there 
came  to  her  a  premonition  so  strong  and  sweet  that 
every  nerve  tingled  as  she  waited.  She  realized  that 
an  hour  had  come  for  which  she  found  herself 
strangely  unprepared.  She  heard  the  sound  of  the 
opening  gate  and  the  crunch  of  quick  footsteps  on 
the  path.  Her  white  fingers  sought  the  cross  at 
her  breast.  So  Raimbaut  found  her,  pale  and  silent, 
with  the  long  lashes  resting  on  her  cheek.  The  love 
in  his  heart  surged  like  a  great  wave;  he  could  not 
speak.  Biatritz  also  was  at  a  loss,  but  controlled 
herself  with  an  effort  and  said,  — 

"  Messire  Raimbaut,  I  wish  it  were  possible  for  you 
to  unsay  the  words  you  spoke  to  me.  Unhappily, 
they  are  like  arrows,  which  cannot  be  called  back 
after  they  have  left  the  bow.  With  the  parchment  it 
is  different.  The  first  lines  are  very  beautiful,  and 
these  I  will  keep ;  the  last  were  surely  written  with  the 
thought  of  some  one  else?  They  are  such  as  no 
troubadour  should  speak  to  his  Lady  of  Song.  It  has 
grieved  me  to  injure  the  work  of  your  pen,  yet  have  I 
severed  the  manuscript:  the  octave  I  will  treasure, 
but  the  sestet  I  must  return." 

She  handed  the  piece  of  parchment  to  Raimbaut. 
He  crushed  it  in  his  palm. 

"  You  speak  no  more  than  truth.     I  have  forfeited 
410 


SWEET  EARTH  LOVE 

the  right  to  be  called  your  troubadour.  Absolve  me 
from  my  allegiance,  and  bid  me  go.  No  longer  am  I 
content  to  sing  your  praise  alone.  I  must  be  more  or 
less  to  you." 

His  eyes  were  bright,  his  mouth  firm.  Biatritz 
started  back  with  wonder  and  was  about  to  speak, 
but  he  would  not  pause. 

"  I  am  weary  of  being  treated  like  a  lute  or  a  viol 
which  can  only  make  sweet  melodies.  Yet  am  I 
crazed  to  say  this,  for  your  gentleness  has  filled  my 
soul  with  bliss.  All  my  life  have  I  sought  the  Perfect 
Love,  as  holier  souls  have  quested  for  the  Grail. 
When  a  little  lad  at  Vacqueiras,  I  donned  a  severed 
mantle.  A  long  time  kept  I  my  pledge  inviolate, 
but  in  the  end  I  fell.  Do  you  know  what  led  me 
to  renew  the  vow  I  had  belied?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  Into  your  eyes  I  looked.  By  their  pure  light  I 
saw  my  own  unworthiness.  Hand  in  hand  I  walked 
with  you  to  the  very  gates  of  Heaven,  until  the 
demon  of  jealousy  spread  his  dark  wings  and  hid 
from  me  the  celestial  light.  My  love  for  you  is  only 
less  holy  than  my  adoration  of  Our  Lady.  If  we 
were  peasants  on  the  hillside,  I  might  speak  plainly. 
I  should  tell  you  of  a  vineyard  by  the  southern  sea, 
where  I  had  built  a  cottage  over  which  the  roses  crept. 
I  should  beg  you  to  go  with  me  to  the  village  priest 
that  he  might  make  us  man  and  wife.  I  should  plead 
with  you  until  your  kind  heart  could  not  deny  me. 
But  we  are  not  peasants.  You  are  a  daughter  of 

411 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Monferrat.  I  am  a  poor  troubadour.  So  I  have 
come  but  to  say  farewell.  Is  it  madness  to  ask  that 
you  give  me  a  single  word  of  hope  to  bless  the  weary 
days?  " 

He  knelt  at  her  feet  and  pressed  his  lips  to  her 
slender  fingers.  Biatritz  drew  not  her  hand  away. 
But  she  shook  her  head  and  looked  into  his  face  with 
a  great  sadness  in  her  eyes.  Her  voice  was  very  tender. 

"I,  too,  have  fought  a  battle  with  my  heart.  When 
you  spoke  to  me  last  night,  for  a  little  while  I  dreamed 
of  happiness  like  any  peasant  girl.  Truly  I  think  I 
differ  no  whit  from  her,  but  for  the  samite,  the  jewels, 
and  the  shackles  of  an  ancient  name.  I  dreamed  I 
was  married  to  the  man  I  loved.  But  I  woke  at 
last.  I  remembered  that  the  joy  of  life  could  not 
be  mine." 

"  Tell  me,  you  do  not  love  Messire  Guilhem?  " 
demanded  Raimbaut,  eagerly. 

"  I  do  not  love  him." 

"  Tell  me,"  he  cried,  springing  to  his  feet,  "  were  I 
the  Count  of  Courth£zon,  could  I  hope  to  win  you?  " 

He  listened,  breathless,  as  she  said,  — 

"  Do  you  remember  how  I  showed  you  the  secret 
of  the  garden  gate,  and  brought  you  to  my  Arbor 
of  Dreams  on  that  sweet  Easter  Sunday?  It  was 
then,  although  I  knew  it  not,  that  I  unbarred  my 
heart.  Through  all  the  weeks  that  followed  I  saw 
not  whither  I  was  drifting.  Only  yesterday  did  I 
begin  to  understand.  To-day  there  is  nothing  in  my 
soul  but  certainty." 

412 


SWEET  EARTH  LOVE 

"  Come  with  me!  "  cried  Raimbaut.  "  I  will  build 
for  you  a  tower  by  the  southern  sea." 

Biatritz  shook  her  head  sadly,  tenderly  as  before. 

"  I  cannot  go  with  you;  yet  will  I  pray  the  saints 
to  bring  you  back  to  me.  You  may  trust  my  love 
even  as  you  believe  in  God." 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  no  longer  the  pale  white  lily 
of  Easter  day,  for  her  face  was  suffused  with  blushes. 
Raimbaut  drew  her  to  his  breast,  whispering  words 
of  love  and  adoration.  He  kissed  her  forehead  and 
her  cheeks.  Lured  by  their  fragrance,  he  sought 
her  lips,  but  she  repulsed  him  gently.  —  "At  this 
moment,  my  beloved,  I  would  deny  you  nothing. 
Yet  I  must  save  my  lips  for  the  man  I  wed. 
Should  I  gain  the  consent  of  Bonifaz  to  our  mar- 
riage, I  will  not  wait,  but  will  go  to  you.  The  kiss 
that  I  refuse  to-day  shall  be  the  sign  of  joy,  the 
pledge  of  our  betrothal."  She  unclasped  the  arms 
which  clung  so  closely  about  his  neck.  One  last 
glance  she  gave  him  full  of  unutterable  love,  then, 
throwing  herself  on  the  green  sward,  she  listened 
to  the  slow  footsteps  and  the  sound  of  the  closing 
gate. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

1HE   BLACK   SAIL 

RAIMBAUT  and  Jacques  rode  away  from  the  Castle 
of  the  Vale  even  more  silently  than  they  had 
approached  it  from  Valenza  six  months  before. 
Jacques,  after  one  or  two  abortive  efforts  to  engage 
his  master  in  conversation,  left  him  to  his  thoughts. 
They  were  very  bitter  and  very  sweet.  Each  step 
took  him  away  from  Biatritz,  yet  the  consciousness 
that  she  loved  him  filled  his  cup  of  happiness  to  the 
brim.  What  though  the  future  was  shrouded  in 
the  mist  of  uncertainty;  what  though  he  had  won 
but  the  promise  that  she  would  wait  for  him, —  the 
sun  of  hope  shone  through  it  all,  glorifying  even  the 
sorrow  of  separation.  It  was  of  a  love  like  this  that 
he  had  dreamed  at  Vacqueiras,  though  he  did  not 
comprehend  its  depth  or  sweetness.  It  was  a  vision 
like  this  which  had  appeared  to  him  again  and  again. 
Surely  she  had  kept  his  feet  from  wandering  far  from 
the  true  path,  and  had  prevented  him  from  ever 
quite  forgetting  the  severed  mantle  which  he  wore. 
He  remembered  how  impressed  he  had  been  when 
Bonifaz  showed  him  her  picture  on  that  first  morning 
at  Toulouse.  The  thought  of  that  had  given  him 
strength  to  resist  the  beautiful  Bellisenda.  It  was  the 
unconscious  comparison  between  her  and  Loba  which 
had  left  in  him  a  saving  discontent.  It  was  a  joy  to 

414 


THE  BLACK   SAIL 

remember  how  he  had  been  permitted  to  draw  his 
sword  in  her  defence  and  protect  her  from  danger. 
He  recalled  her  every  act  and  word  as  they  sat 
together  in  the  Arbor  of  Dreams.  He  pictured  her 
fair  face,  so  serious  and  so  serene.  Her  smile  came 
back  to  him  like  a  benediction.  Truly  the  saints 
had  been  good  to  give  him  a  lady  so  beautiful  and 
a  love  so  blessed!  Possessed  by  these  memories, 
Raimbaut  rode  league  after  league  in  silence.  Scarce 
a  word  did  he  speak  until  they  came  to  the  gates  of 
Genoa,  where  they  met  a  motley  crowd  jostling  one 
another  in  selfish  haste. 

As  they  clattered  through  the  city,  they  found  the 
streets  empty  and  deserted.  They  could  scarcely 
have  been  more  vacant  had  a  plague  swept  through 
them.  No  sooner,  however,  did  Raimbaut  get  an  un- 
interrupted view  of  the  harbor,  than  he  saw  where  the 
people  were  gathered,  for  the  quays  were  black  with 
thronging  multitudes.  Even  the  ships  were  crowded, 
and  the  sailors  had  swarmed  into  the  rigging. 

At  first  he  could  not  make  out  what  had  drawn  the 
populace  to  the  water's  edge,  but  suddenly  discovered 
a  ship  with  sails  black  as  funeral  plumes.  The  huge 
vessel  was  creeping  slowly  up  the  outer  harbor,  for 
the  breeze  scarce  filled  her  gloomy  canvas.  She 
moved  as  if  laden  with  the  burden  of  death.  A 
strange  spirit  of  horror  seemed  to  brood  over  all,  and 
no  one  turned  to  speak  to  Raimbaut  as  he  passed. 
He  made  his  way  to  the  warehouse  of  a  merchant 
through  whom  he  was  wont  to  receive  messages  from 

415 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Vacqueiras,  and  found  him  standing  in  his  doorway 
surrounded  by  his  clerks  and  a  little  group  of  seamen. 
There  were  also  gathered  on  the  quay  a  number  of 
knights  and  nobles,  all  grave  and  silent.  Raimbaut 
returned  the  salutation  of  the  merchant,  and,  point- 
ing to  the  harbor,  asked, — 

"  What  means  the  entrance  of  this  ship  with  the 
black  sails?  " 

"  I  cannot  answer,"  replied  the  merchant,  "al- 
though I  believe  it  to  be  a  vessel  of  mine  which  sailed 
not  long  ago  from  Acre.  I  fear  she  brings  ill  tidings 
from  Palestine." 

"  I  think  you  are  right,"  Raimbaut  rejoined. 
11  We  had  news  at  Monferrat,  only  a  fortnight  past, 
that  the  army  was  in  a  weakened  state,  and  invited 
disaster." 

No  one  showed  any  inclination  to  talk  above  a 
whisper,  and  there  was  a  wait  of  many  minutes  while 
the  sombre  craft  came  in.  The  sun,  just  at  setting, 
broke  through  the  clouds  and  transformed  the  black 
canvas  to  a  sickly  red,  more  ghastly  than  before. 
The  last  ray  had  departed,  and  dusk  was  beginning 
to  gather  as  the  sails  dropped  to  the  deck  with  a 
sound  like  the  rattle  in  the  throat  of  a  dying  man. 
The  ship  swung  slowly  along  the  quay  where  Raim- 
baut stood. 

As  they  were  making  the  vessel  fast,  a  tall  knight 
stepped  ashore.  His  armor  was  painted  black,  his 
face  was  pale  and  set.  He  walked  with  difficulty,  hav- 
ing received  some  serious  hurt,  and  leaned  upon  the 

416 


THE  BLACK   SAIL 

shoulder  of  a  younger  man,  followed  by  a  score  of 
lesser  knights  and  squires. 

"  It  is  a  noble  of  Verona,  a  Knight  Templar,  who  is 
high  in  the  confidence  of  his  Order,"  whispered  the 
merchant.  Then  he  bowed  respectfully  as  the  knight 
addressed  him. 

"  Alas,  my  good  Guido,  I  bring  the  direst  news 
that  ever  blackened  mortal  lips.  We  have  been 
overwhelmed  by  the  host  of  the  Saracens.  The  Holy 
City  is  fallen.  Our  King  is  a  prisoner.  The  Cross 
is  the  spoil  of  the  infidel." 

At  this  a  cry  of  horror  went  up,  and,  as  the  word 
passed  through  the  multitude,  there  arose,  in  a  long 
wave,  murmurs  and  groans  of  dismay.  An  old  man- 
at-arms  advanced,  and,  bowing  humbly,  said,  - 

"  I  pray  you  tell  me,  Sir,  how  the  disaster  came  to 
us.  I  too  have  fought  under  the  banner  of  the  Cross. 
Yet  did  I  never  think  that  news  so  bitter  should  be 
brought  to  me." 

"  Bitter,  indeed,"  the  knight  replied;  "  and  worst 
of  all,  it  was  ill  counsel,  after  good,  that  caused  our 
defeat.  We  were  mustered  at  the  Fountain  of 
Sepphoris,  between  Acre  and  the  Sea  of  Galilee. 
Here  came  to  us  a  message  from  the  Countess  of 
Tripoli  that  she  was  besieged  at  Tiberias,  and  in 
such  straits  that  she  could  hold  out  but  little  longer. 
A  council  was  assembled,  and  Raymond  advised  that 
Tiberias  be  left  to  its  fate,  for  to  attempt  its  rescue 
just  then  would  bring  certain  destruction.  '  If  I 
lose  my  wife,  my  retainers,  my  city,  I  will  get  these 

417 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

back  when  I  can.  I  had  rather  sacrifice  all  than  see 
this  land  the  spoil  of  the  unbeliever! '  This  was  a 
wise  decision.  But  Gerard  de  Rideford,  who  had 
obtained  great  influence  over  the  King,  came  to  him 
at  midnight,  and,  in  spite  of  protests,  persuaded  him 
to  move  at  dawn.  All  day  long  we  were  hemmed  in 
by  the  Saracens,  and,  unable  either  to  advance  or 
retreat,  were  forced  to  camp.  The  next  morning 
we  rose,  faint  with  heat,  almost  dead  with  thirst, 
possessed  by  premonition  of  defeat.  I  have  never 
before  seen  so  many  brave  men  go  with  doubtful 
hearts  into  battle.  When  it  came  to  the  fight, 
however,  courage  returned;  and  we  did  our  best. 
There  were  many  deeds  of  daring,  and  again  and 
again  we  drove  back  our  assailants;  yet,  when  the 
stars  came  out,  they  looked  upon  us  completely 
routed.  Though  badly  wounded,  I  could  not  rebel 
against  the  command  of  Guy  himself,  to  carry  the 
news  to  Acre.  I  seized  a  swift  camel,  the  owner  of 
which  had  been  slain,  and,  riding  without  stop, 
reached  port  and  set  sail  at  once.  The  battle  of 
Tiberias  has  broken  the  Army  of  the  Cross.  Only 
a  handful  escaped  to  the  shelter  of  the  walls  of 
Jerusalem,  which  they  vainly  tried  to  defend.  Even 
now,  the  Holy  City  is  in  the  hands  of  the  infidel." 

When  the  knight  ended,  there  was  a  great  silence, 
broken  by  stifled  sobs.  A  shrill  cry  went  up  from  the 
people,  rising  higher  and  higher  until  it  became  a 
wail  of  agony.  Some  broke  into  tears;  others  cursed 
Saladin;  many  threw  themselves  on  the  ground  and 

418 


THE  BLACK  SAIL 

tore  their  garments  in  their  sorrow  and  despair. 
The  tall  knight  was  lifted  upon  a  horse,  which  he 
mounted  with  difficulty,  and  rode  slowly  up  the  street 
toward  the  citadel. 

So  overwhelmed  was  Raimbaut  that  for  the 
moment  he  quite  forgot  his  errand.  He  had  all  his 
life  been  strangely  indifferent  to  the  Call  of  the  Cross. 
He  knew  that  brave  men  were  suffering  and  dying  on 
the  hot  sands  of  Syria,  but  they  seemed  misguided 
zealots.  To-day  the  approach  of  the  ship  with  the 
black  sails,  the  sight  of  the  knight  pale  and  wounded, 
and  his  story  of  disaster,  took  possession  of  the 
singer's  very  soul.  It  brought  all  the  chivalry  of  the 
Crusaders  strangely  near  to  him:  the  struggle  to 
rescue  the  Holy  City  seemed  real  and  intimate. 
For  the  time  he  forgot  even  his  love  and  the  sorrow 
of  separation.  He  was  about  to  cry  out  as  from  a 
dream,  when  Guido  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Here  is  a  message,  Messire  Raimbaut,  newly 
arrived  for  you.  I  should  have  sent  it  to  Milan,  had 
you  not  come  here  to-day." 

Raimbaut  took  the  parchment,  opened  it  mechani- 
cally, and  read  it  with  little  comprehension  of  its 
meaning.  Then  he  came  to  himself,  and  examined 
each  word  keenly  and  feverishly.  The  message  was 
from  Anselme. 

"  This  is  to  tell  you  that  Berguedan  the  Spaniard 
is  at  Courthezon.  I  am  burdened  by  fears  which  I 
cannot  express.  Come  to  Vacqueiras  at  once !  May 
Saint  Martin  bring  you  quickly! " 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

DEATH   THE   MEDDLER 

AT  the  news  that  Berguedan  was  at  Courthezon, 
Raimbaut  shot  like  an  arrow  out  of  Genoa.  The 
resentment  which  had  slumbered  during  his  stay  at 
the  Castle  of  the  Vale,  now  became  a  veritable 
passion. 

Jacques  had  never  seen  his  master  so  possessed. 
He  rode  night  and  day,  exchanging  each  worn-out 
beast  for  a  fresh  one,  and  on  the  sixth  day  reached 
Carpentras,  where  he  learned  that  Berguedan  had 
slept  that  very  week.  This  so  inflamed  Raimbaut's 
anger  that,  although  he  had  completed  a  full  day's 
journey,  he  stopped  only  to  give  the  horses  an  hour's 
rest,  and  then  saddled,  being  determined  to  spend 
the  night  at  Vacqueiras.  At  the  village  it  would 
be  easy  to  obtain  complete  information  concerning 
affairs  at  Courthezon ;  from  the  brown  tower  it  would 
be  possible  to  watch  and  be  prepared  to  strike.  He 
had  slight  fear  of  recognition,  as  no  one  had  set  eyes 
on  him  since  he  left  home,  a  boy  of  sixteen. 

As  he  spurred  along  toward  Vacqueiras,  he  was  pos- 
sessed by  an  ever-present  foreboding.  He  was  as 
weary  both  in  mind  and  body  as  if  he  had  lain  on  the 
rack.  Every  step  of  the  way  he  was  occupied  with 
memories  of  that  evening  so  long  ago  when  with  An- 
selme  he  had  waited  in  the  tower  for  Peirol's  return. 

420 


DEATH  THE  MEDDLER 

The  wide  Rhone  valley  was  flooded  with  sunbeams ; 
the  air  was  soft  and  balmy  as  the  shadows  lengthened. 
At  last,  the  light  went  out  like  a  smothered  torch. 
Raimbaut  saw  the  tide  of  night  spread  over  the  plain, 
climb  the  rocks  behind  Vacqueiras,  and  cover  the 
high  summit  of  Ventoux  with  its  dark  wave. 

It  was  with  an  inexplicable  presentiment  of  evil 
that  he  neared  the  spot  where  the  road  from  Carpen- 
tras  crossed  that  from  Courthezon.  He  had  never 
passed  without  a  shudder  this  place  where  Peirol  had 
received  his  hurt ;  but  to-night  he  felt  he  could  scarce 
force  himself  to  approach  it.  Indeed,  he  was  so  thor- 
oughly exhausted  and  unnerved  that  the  temptation 
came  to  him  to  turn  and  ride  back  to  Carpentras. 

There  were  no  sounds  but  those  from  the  marshes 
by  the  river.  The  gloom  was  bridging  the  gaps  be- 
tween the  hedges,  and  the  stars  were  beginning  to 
show  dimly. 

They  were  within  a  short  distance  of  the  cross- 
roads when  Raimbaut  suddenly  drew  rein. 

"  Tell  me,  Jacques,  do  you  see  a  horse's  head  above 
the  hedgerow?  " 

"  I  see  it  plainly." 

"  Is  it  a  red  roan?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Jacques,  looking  at  his  master 
wonderingly,  for  he  had  never  seen  him  in  such  a 
mood.  "  It  is  a  chestnut  horse  with  a  white  star  on 
his  forehead,  and  a  little  behind  I  can  see  the  back 
of  a  gray  charger." 

Raimbaut  drew  a  long  breath  and  said,  — 
421 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

"  It  is  passing  strange  to  see  two  horses  loose  in  a 
lonely  place  like  this." 

With  ever  deepening  forebodings  he  approached 
the  cross-roads.  When  he  reached  the  open  space, 
there  stood  a  big  gray  contentedly  cropping  the  grass, 
and  a  handsome  brown  destrier,  bravely  caparisoned, 
making  a  melancholy  figure  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

It  was  Jacques  who  discovered  a  huge  form 
stretched  on  the  grass.  There  was  no  sound  or  mo- 
tion, and  the  head  was  hidden  in  the  black  shadow 
of  the  hawthorn  hedge.  Raimbaut  slipped  from  his 
horse  and,  drawing  near  the  still  figure,  peered  into 
the  pale  face.  Then  he  gave  a  cry  of  horror,  for  it 
was  none  other  than  Peirol.  He  seized  the  bare 
hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  It  was  cold  and 
rigid.  He  drew  off  his  gauntlet,  fumbled  with 
trembling  fingers  at  the  collar  of  his  father's  tunic, 
and  held  a  hand  to  his  heart.  There  was  no  motion. 
The  eyes  were  closed,  the  look  quite  calm  and 
peaceful. 

Raimbaut  realized  that  Peirol  was  indeed  dead. 
He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  drew  his  sword  with  a 
fierce  cry.  At  this  the  brown  destrier  gave  a  snort 
and,  lurching  forward,  galloped  madly  away  toward 
Courthezon,  as  if  pursued  by  winged  fear.  Raim- 
baut could  see  nothing  but  the  gray  horse,  until 
the  latter,  which  was  still  grazing,  took  a  step  for- 
ward. Then  he  discovered,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road  close  to  the  river,  a  little  huddled  group  of  men 
standing  dim  and  ghost-like  in  the  dusk.  He  called 

422 


DEATH  THE  MEDDLER 

Jacques  to  him,  and  they  crossed  the  road  with  their 
swords  ready  in  their  hands. 

They  came  first  upon  two  rough  peasants,  who 
turned  with  frightened  eyes,  and  edged  away  at 
Raimbaut's  approach.  They  next  saw  the  tall  form 
of  Anselme  standing  with  bowed  head  by  the  road- 
side, his  white  hair  showing  ghastly  against  the 
hedge.  The  priest  turned  and  lifted  his  hand  in 
greeting,  but  Raimbaut  brushed  by  him,  and  stooped 
over  a  recumbent  figure,  half-lying,  half-sitting  by  a 
green  bank.  It  ^vas  Berguedan,  who  looked  up  with 
a  mocking  smile.  Raimbaut's  anger  broke  bounds, 
and  he  would  have  struck  the  Spaniard  full  in  the 
face,  had  not  Anselme  caught  his  wrist. 

"  Beware,  my  son,  lest  you  assail  a  dying  man, 
who  has  received  the  last  sacraments  of  the 
Church." 

At  this  Raimbaut  staggered  back,  and  Berguedan 
broke  into  a  peal  of  hysterical  laughter  which  ended 
in  a  sob  and  groan. 

"  Ah,  my  friend  of  the  severed  mantle,  at  last  you 
have  caught  me;  but  you  come  too  late.  You  can- 
not cross  swords  with  one  already  doomed  to  die. 
It  is  Death  the  meddler  who  has  come  between  us." 

He  broke  into  the  same  wild  laughter  as  before, 
and  Raimbaut  found  no  word  to  answer.  He  seemed 
to  be  passing  through  some  dreadful  dream,  out  of 
which  he  must  soon  wake  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Anselme  bent  down  and  spoke  again,  - 

"  It  has  eased  your  soul  to  confess  your  sins. 
423 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Now  ask  forgiveness  from  him  whom  you  have 
wronged." 

"  Good  priest,"  replied  Berguedan,  "  the  scales 
hang  not  so  even  that  anything  I  can  say  to  Messire 
Raimbaut  will  change  the  eternal  balance.  To  you 
I  have  laid  bare  my  life.  I  have  asked  that  he  be 
told  of  all  that  in  the  least  concerns  him.  As  you 
well  know,  my  sin  against  him  is  less  than  nothing 
compared  with  others  that  have  lain  heavy  on  my 
soul.  Even  now  I  can  hear  the  wings  of  Death. 
Pray  that  he  —  may  —  come  —  quickly!  " 

The  Spaniard  fell  back  with  a  deep  groan;  there 
was  a  rattle  in  his  throat;  and  in  another  moment 
he  was  gone.  Anselme  whispered  a  prayer  for  the 
passing  spirit,  and  closed  the  lids  over  the  glazing 
eyes.  He  turned  to  Raimbaut  and  said,  — 

"Thanks  to  the  good  God,  I  arrived  in  time  to  give 
ghostly  comfort  and  the  last  rites  of  the  Church  to 
two  dying  men.  The  first  had  little  on  his  soul,  but 
the  other  will  test  the  mercy  of  Heaven." 

11  What  led  to  this  encounter?  "  demanded  Raim- 
baut. "  How  was  it  that  my  father  was  allowed  to 
leave  the  castle,  and  to  engage  in  this  unhappy 
struggle  at  arms?  " 

"  I  have  much  to  tell  you,"  replied  Anselme,  "  but 
we  must  first  arrange  for  the  proper  care  of  the  dead. 
Shall  we  go  on  to  Vacqueiras,  leaving  Jacques  here 
with  the  peasants?  We  can  send  down  two  litters 
from  the  village." 

"  I  will  go  with  you;  yet  I  would  not  have  the 
424 


DEATH  THE  MEDDLER 

body  of  Berguedan  brought  to  Vacqueiras.  It  must 
be  taken  to  Courthezon,  where  the  Spaniard  was  a 
guest." 

Once  more  Raimbaut  looked  into  the  face  of 
Peirol,  and  then,  mounting  his  horse,  rode  off  with 
Anselme,  who  climbed  with  difficulty  on  to  the  back 
of  the  gray  charger.  As  they  went  slowly  through 
the  darkness,  Anselme  answered  the  questions  that 
were  in  Raimbaut's  mind,  although  he  was  too  over- 
come by  his  experience  to  ask  them. 

'  You  must  know  that  for  a  full  year  my  lord 
Peirol  has  been  improving.  We  have  sent  messages 
as  fast  as  we  heard  from  you  in  Italy,  but  unfortu- 
nately could  not  reach  you.  For  the  last  six  months 
he  has  taken  charge  of  his  affairs,  and  has  occasion- 
ally mounted  this  old  gray  and  ridden  over  the 
valley.  He  lost  something  of  his  grossness,  but  he 
cared  not  to  see  strangers,  and  went  out  only  at  the 
approach  of  dusk. 

"  A  week  ago  he  suddenly  rushed  down  the  stair- 
way in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  ordered  his  horse 
to  be  saddled,  and  galloped  at. full  speed  down  the 
hill.  His  face  was  black  with  anger,  yet  he  seemed 
quite  master  of  himself.  I  had  no  clue  as  to  what 
excited  him,  for,  when  he  returned,  he  shook  his  head 
and  would  tell  me  nothing.  The  next  day  he  ordered 
his  armor,  rusty  from  years  of  disuse,  to  be  taken 
from  the  wall  and  polished  until  it  shone  like  silver. 
Then,  donning  hauberk  and  helmet,  he  rode  all  day 
about  the  country,  reaching  home  only  with  the 

425 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

darkness.  Color  came  back  to  his  cheek  and  light 
to  his  eye.  He  was  his  old  jovial  self  again  and 
bandied  words  with  Michonne  as  he  had  not  done 
since  he  received  his  hurt.  During  the  evenings  he 
talked  freely,  and  told  me  many  things  of  which  I 
had  an  inkling,  but  no  certain  knowledge.  However, 
when  I  tried  to  draw  from  him  some  explanation  of 
his  sudden  taking  up  of  arms  again,  he  put  me  off 
and  would  give  only  an  evasive  answer. 

'  To-day  he  was  sitting  at  the  window  of  the 
tower  when  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  bade  me  help 
him  arm.  He  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away. 
When  he  departed,  I  returned  to  the  embrasure,  and 
saw  a  knight  on  a  chestnut  destrier  coming  swiftly 
along  the  road  from  Courthezon.  It  was  easy  to 
watch  Peirol's  gray  charger,  and  I  could  see  the  two 
riders  meet  at  the  cross-roads.  For  a  moment  they 
faced  each  other  as  if  engaged  in  some  parley. 
Suddenly  swords  were  drawn,  and  I  could  see  blades 
flash  in  the  sun.  For  a  while  the  issue  was  doubtful ; 
then  Peirol's  strength  prevailed.  His  opponent 
was  half-beaten  from  his  horse  and  had  turned  to 
fly,  when  Peirol  seized  him  in  his  arms  and  they 
fell  together.  Then  I  could  see  nothing.  Hurrying 
down  the  stairs,  I  summoned  two  peasants  and  we 
ran  as  fast  as  possible  to  the  cross-roads.  It  was  just 
at  set  of  sun  when  we  arrived.  The  struggle  was 
over.  The  combatants  were  locked  together  by  the 
roadside,  each  with  dagger  in  hand,  but  too  weak 
to  strike  another  blow. 

426 


DEATH  THE  MEDDLER 

"  When  we  dragged  Peirol  from  his  enemy,  he 
stood  for  a  moment  on  his  feet  and  whispered,  — 
'Though  I  die,  this  devil  can  nevermore  work  harm! ' 
He  then  fell  backward  into  my  arms.  We  carried 
him  to  the  farther  side  of  the  road.  He  was  able  to 
give  me  his  final  instructions  and  to  confess  and 
receive  absolution.  His  last  words,  Raimbaut,  were 
those  of  advice  and  love  to  you." 

As  Anselme  finished,  they  reached  the  little  hill 
at  Vacqueiras.  A  moment  later  they  rode  through 
the  gate,  and  Raimbaut  entered  the  doorway  of  the 
brown  tower. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

AN   OLD   LOVE   STORY 

THE  last  solemn  rites  were  performed  for  the  lord 
of  Vacqueiras.  The  villagers  dug  his  deep  grave 
under  the  floor  of  the  little  church,  and  on  a  stone 
slab  were  roughly  cut  his  name  and  an  Orate. 

It  was  the  night  after  poor  Peirol's  body  had  been 
placed  at  rest.  Raimbaut  sat  with  Anselme  in  the 
hall  of  the  castle.  For  a  long  time  there  was  silence, 
the  chaplain  studying  his  companion  with  kindly, 
searching  eyes.  At  last  he  began,  speaking  carefully 
and  hesitatingly,  — 

"  My  son,  I  have  many  things  to  say.  Only  now 
have  I  been  able  to  straighten  out  the  tangled  threads 
of  your  life.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  story  as  I  used  when 
you  were  a  tiny  lad  and  stood  at  my  knee?  Are  you 
strong  enough  to  bear  a  revelation  that  will  unsettle 
all  your  beliefs?  Will  you  be  patient  to  the  end?  " 

"  I  will  be  patient,"  replied  Raimbaut.  "  I 
believe  that  I  am  strong." 

There  was  a  dying  fire  on  the  hearth.  All  the  time 
that  Anselme  talked,  Raimbaut  rarely  lifted  his  eyes 
from  the  red  embers,  and  not  once  did  he  open  his 
mouth  to  ask  a  question.  The  priest  began  his  tale 
as  if  it  were  one  in  which  neither  of  them  had  any 
personal  interest. 

"  Once  there  lived  a  fair  demoiselle  in  a  castle 
428 


AN   OLD  LOVE   STORY 

perched  on  a  crag  overlooking  the  Rhone.  She  was 
tall  and  pale  and  full  of  dreams.  She  read  old  ro- 
mances, and  wrought  skilfully  at  her  tapestries,  but 
most  of  all  she  loved  to  sing  the  ancient  songs  of 
Provence.  Sometimes,  as  she  sat  looking  out  over 
the  river  to  the  ragged  cliffs  that  formed  the  western 
horizon,  she  found  new  words  of  her  own  which  she 
would  sing  and  then  pen  carefully  on  parchment, 
that  she  might  not  forget  them.  She  was  a  little 
lonely  withal,  for  the  old  baron,  her  father,  was  far 
away  in  Palestine,  and  her  mother  was  dead. 

1 '  One  day  there  came  gliding  up  the  river  a  boat 
bravely  furnished,  and  rowed  by  six  sturdy  oarsmen 
with  swords  and  hauberks  under  their  thwarts.  In 
the  stern  sat  a  young  knight  with  his  squire;  and  the 
gallant,  catching  sight  of  the  beautiful  face  in  the 
embrasure,  blew  a  kiss  from  the  tips  of  his  fingers  as 
he  swept  slowly  by.  All  day  the  memory  of  the  dark 
eyes  haunted  him,  and  at  dusk  he  returned  and  sang 
from  the  waters  under  her  window  a  pretty  little 
chanson  in  praise  of  the  demoiselle. 

"  On  the  first  night  there  was  no  response;  on  the 
second  a  white  hand  waved  from  the  embrasure;  and 
on  the  third  a  note  came  floating  down  into  the  boat, 
on  which  were  written  a  few  rhymed  lines  in  answer 
to  the  serenade.  How  they  met,  I  cannot  tell,  for 
the  lady  was  strictly  watched  and  guarded.  The 
gallant  was  experienced  in  such  adventures ;  he  suc- 
ceeded in  gaining  access  to  the  demoiselle  and  carried 
her  heart  by  storm.  How  could  he  fail?  He  was 

429 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

handsome  and  debonair.  He  had  wooed  many  fair 
ladies,  had  travelled  much,  and  above  all,  was  a 
famous  troubadour  whose  songs  were  sung  in  every 
castle  of  Provence. 

"  Yet  in  spite  of  the  desire  which  completely 
possessed  her,  she  would  not  surrender  to  her  lover's 
importunities,  but  insisted  that  their  love  must  first 
receive  the  sanction  of  the  Church.  Indeed,  religion 
is  the  only  sure  bulwark  of  a  virtuous  heart  against 
the  storm  of  passion.  Again  and  again  he  assailed 
her;  but  she  was  firm  in  her  refusal.  God  knows  she 
loved  him ;  but  in  her  heart  there  was  a  purity  which 
made  her  strong. 

"  The  young  Count  was  greatly  disappointed,  for 
he  had  no  intention  of  marriage.  Finding  himself 
unable  to  persuade  the  demoiselle,  he  resolved  to 
overcome  her  prejudice  by  means  of  a  mock  cere- 
mony performed  by  one  in  the  garb  of  a  priest.  He 
called  his  squire  to  him,  and  gave  careful  instructions 
as  to  what  should  be  done.  This  squire  had  been 
always  ready  to  perform  his  master's  will,  and  to 
give  him  unquestioning  obedience.  Yet  Providence, 
and  the  beauty  and  virtue  of  the  demoiselle  herself, 
wrought  so  strongly  upon  him,  that  he  did  not  have 
the  heart  to  carry  out  his  master's  wicked  purpose. 

"  Now  I  must  tell  you  that  there  stood,  not  far 
away,  a  poor  church  on  the  edge  of  a  ragged  village. 
Its  priest  was  a  young  man  who  had  the  fear  of  God 
in  his  heart.  To  him  the  squire  told  his  story,  and 
it  was  arranged  that  the  evil  purpose  of  the  gallant 

430 


AN  OLD  LOVE   STORY 

should  be  thwarted.  So  the  lovers  were  securely 
wedded  by  the  sacred  ceremonial  of  the  Church, 
performed  by  a  priest  with  full  powers,  the  gallant 
believing  the  rite  to  be  worthless  and  binding  upon 
neither.  In  such  ways  doth  God  put  to  naught  the 
devices  of  the  wicked  and  protect  the  lambs  of  His 
fold. 

"  Now  this  careless  gallant  was  one  to  whom  con- 
summation acts  as  water  to  the  fire  of  love.  He  soon 
began  to  tire  of  his  bride,  and  left  her  with  protesta- 
tions of  the  deepest  devotion,  on  the  plea  that  before 
he  took  her  home  to  his  own  castle,  he  must  break  the 
news  of  their  marriage  to  his  mother.  He  promised 
to  return  without  delay. 

"  Day  after  day  the  poor  lady  watched  the  curve 
of  the  river  from  her  window.  She  grew  pale  and 
anxious  as  the  months  went  by,  and  then,  inspired  by 
her  longings,  she  wrote  that  perfect  chanson,  '  Why 
comes  the  dawn  so  soon? '  and  sent  it  to  her  lover. 
So  beautiful  was  it  that  the  passion  of  the  Count  re- 
vived for  a  little,  and  she  received  in  an  answering 
song  the  assurance  that  he  would  soon  return  to  dain- 
tier. The  flame  of  love  in  his  heart  nevertheless 
flickered  and  died.  To  her  beseeching  messages  he 
replied  not  at  all,  until,  wearied  by  her  entreaties,  he 
wrote  what  he  believed  to  be  the  truth:  telling  her 
plainly  that  there  had  been  no  marriage,  and  that  she 
must  keep  silence.  She,  half-crazed  by  her  trouble, 
had  gone  for  advice  to  the  Abbess  of  a  nunnery  not 
far  away.  On  receiving  there  the  dreadful  final 

431 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

message,  she  fell  in  a  swoon,  and  for  many  weeks 
hovered  between  life  and  death.  At  this  time  she 
bore  a  man-child,  who  was  given  into  the  hands  of 
a  woman  in  the  village,  newly  widowed,  who  had  lost 
her  own  babe.  It  was  the  young  priest  who  arranged 
for  the  care  of  the  child,  and  who  soon  after  took  his 
departure  for  Rome. 

"  Although  the  demoiselle  prayed  fervently  for 
death,  the  petition  was  denied  her,  and  she  returned 
to  the  castle  on  the  river.  Here  she  learned  that  her 
father  had  been  slain  by  the  enemies  of  Christ  in 
far-off  Palestine.  A  marriage  had  long  before  been 
planned  between  the  demoiselle  and  the  son  of  her 
over-lord.  As  she  was  now  left  quite  unprotected, 
it  was  decided  that  the  ceremony  must  take  place  at 
once.  She  succeeded  in  postponing  the  day,  but  at 
last,  to  end  the  young  Count's  importunities,  she 
told  him  her  whole  sad  story.  To  her  surprise  she 
discovered  that  his  love  was  so  great  that  naught 
could  frustrate  it,  and  as  he  still  desired  her,  she  could 
not  deny  herself  the  shelter  of  his  name.  In  this  she 
acted  innocently  and  she  quickly  learned  to  love  him. 
Another  son  was  born  to  her  and  life  was  full  of 
happiness  and  content. 

"  For  five  years  the  young  priest  dwelt  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Apostles'  tomb.  When  at  last  he  re- 
turned to  the  village,  he  learned  that  soon  after 
his  departure  the  squire  who  had  helped  to  thwart 
the  wicked  purpose  of  his  master  had  reappeared. 
This  squire  had  won  his  spurs,  and  been  given  a  fief 

432 


AN  OLD   LOVE   STORY 

of  which  he  was  about  to  take  possession.  So  pleased 
was  he  with  the  little  babe  that  he  chose  to  call  him  his 
own  son,  and  took  him  to  his  castle  with  the  peasant 
foster-mother.  The  young  priest  was  joyful  enough 
when  he  heard  about  the  child,  but  his  soul  was  filled 
with  horror  when  he  learned  of  the  marriage  of  the 
good  lady  to  the  son  of  her  over-lord.  He  knew  it 
was  an  unhallowed  union ;  yet  for  a  long  time  he  was 
uncertain  concerning  his  duty.  At  last  he  decided 
he  had  no  choice  but  to  tell  everything  to  the  woman 
who  had  been  so  deeply  wronged,  leaving  to  her  con- 
science the  decision. 

"  When  she  learned  that  her  first  marriage  was 
lawful,  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  Church  she  was  the 
wife  of  her  first  lover  alone,  and  that  her  child  by  the 
second  was  illegitimate,  then  came  the  supreme  test 
of  her  religion.  She  chose,  by  the  grace  of  God,  the 
right  path,  and  told  her  husband  the  whole  truth. 
He,  a  true  Christian,  was  yet  filled  with  dismay  at 
the  thought  of  giving  her  up.  At  last  it  was  decided, 
for  the  sake  of  the  child  that  had  been  born  to  them, 
that  they  should  continue  together  —  before  the 
world  —  as  lord  and  lady,  keeping  the  secret  buried 
in  their  own  breasts." 

Here  Anselme  came  to  a  pause,  looking  earnestly  at 
Raimbaut,  who  now  for  the  first  time  lifted  his  eyes 
from  the  fire,  and  then  went  on, — 

"  God  knows  I  am  telling  the  truth  when  I  say  that 
the  lady  was  the  noble  Countess  of  Dia;  and  her  false 
lover,  yet  lawful  husband,  Count  Raimbaut  of  Cour- 

433 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

thezon.  The  young  squire  who  became  a  knight  was 
Peirol;  I  am  the  priest;  and  that  child  is  none  other 
than  Raimbaut  of  Vacqueiras." 

Raimbaut's  soul  was  too  full  of  conflicting  emo- 
tions for  him  to  find  words.  When  Anselme  began 
again,  his  voice  sounded  strangely  faint  and  distant. 

"Although  you  were  undoubtedly  the  legitimate  son 
of  the  Count  of  Courthezon  and  heir  to  his  title,  it  was 
decided  to  leave  you  in  the  charge  of  Peirol,  and  I  was 
sent  to  minister  to  the  little  church  of  Vacqueiras. 

"It  was  not  long  after  this  that  the  wicked  Ber- 
guedan  came  into  your  life.  How  the  wily  Spaniard 
discovered  the  secret,  I  cannot  tell;  but  he  was 
clever  enough  to  understand  its  value,  and  unscrupu- 
lous enough  to  take  full  advantage  of  it.  He  went 
first  to  the  Count  of  Dia,  and  from  him  obtained  a 
large  sum  of  money,  and  the  promise  of  yearly  pay- 
ments so  long  as  the  secret  remained  inviolate.  Then, 
planning  a  double  blackmail,  he  told  his  story  to 
Tyburge;  and  she,  fearing  for  her  son,  who  had  been 
chosen  her  brother's  heir,  purchased  for  herself  the 
Spaniard's  silence.  It  was  at  this  time  that  there  was 
a  great  tournament  and  Peirol  came  to  Courthezon. 
Berguedan  soon  discovered  that  Peirol  was  dangerous 
to  him,  not  alone  because  of  his  knowledge  of  the 
secret,  but  because  he  was  pleasing  in  the  eyes  of 
Tyburge,  whose  favor  the  Spaniard  also  sought. 

"  It  was  a  custom  of  Berguedan,  always  in  danger 
because  of  his  wicked  deeds,  to  arrange  a  sure  escape 
from  any  punishment  which  might  come  upon  him. 

434 


AN  OLD  LOVE   STORY 

For  this  reason  he  had  secreted  on  a  little  farm 
towards  Carpentras,  a  red  roan  horse  of  wondrous 
speed.  No  sooner  had  Peirol  trotted  slowly  out  of 
Courthezon  after  the  jousts,  than  Berguedan  hurried 
to  the  farm,  and,  mounting  the  swift  destrier,  gal- 
loped at  full  speed  to  the  cross-roads.  Here  he 
greeted  Peirol  with  friendly  words,  and  struck  him 
the  murderous  blow,  as,  with  no  thought  of  danger, 
he  was  looking  eagerly  toward  the  castle.  The 
Spaniard  was  preparing  to  finish  his  wicked  work 
with  the  dagger,  when  he  heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs, 
and  putting  spurs  to  his  horse  escaped  in  the  darkness. 
He  succeeded  in  returning  to  the  castle  at  Courthezon 
unseen  by  any  one.  Indeed,  the  tuft  of  red  hair  was 
the  only  clue  to  his  guilt. 

"  For  four  years  Berguedan  wandered  about  en- 
joying his  ill-gotten  gains.  He  returned  at  last  to 
Courthezon,  and  to  crown  his  villainy  told  the  Count 
the  secret  he  had  been  twice  paid  to  keep.  In  this 
he  over-reached  himself  (which  soon  or  late  every 
wicked  man  must  do) ,  for  the  Count,  instead  of  offer- 
ing him  a  third  bribe  to  secrecy,  declared  his  firm 
intention  to  right  the  wrong  of  which  he  had  been 
guilty  in  his  youth.  It  was  at  this  time  he  sent  for 
you  at  Vacqueiras,  fully  resolved  to  make  you  his 
heir,  in  place  of  Guilhem.  Berguedan  decided  he 
must  act  promptly.  Assisted  by  Tyburge,  he  began 
at  once  to  impregnate  the  Count's  food  with  an  in- 
sidious poison. 

"  When  the  Count  was  attacked  again  and  again 

435 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

by  a  mysterious  and  violent  illness,  he  feared  that 
death  might  claim  him.  So  he  wrote  with  his  own 
hand  a  statement  declaring  you  to  be  his  son  and 
rightful  heir.  He  sealed  it  with  his  signet  and  placed 
it  under  the  medallion  of  the  Book  of  Hours.  The 
Count  died.  You  had  fled  on  the  same  night,  leaving 
Berguedan  and  Tyburge  in  apparent  safety.  For  a 
long  time  they  had  no  suspicion  that  the  secret  of 
your  birth  was  in  your  own  possession.  They  learned 
this  at  last  from  the  chaplain  of  Courthezon  in  whom 
the  Count  had  confided,  and  who  was  afraid  to  speak, 
until  his  mortal  illness  warned  him  to  unbosom 
himself. 

"  At  this  Tyburge  was  in  great  consternation  and 
resolved  to  kill  you.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  she 
persuaded  Berguedan  to  undertake  this  wicked  deed, 
for  the  Spaniard  had  a  strange  liking  for  you.  Yet 
it  was  at  his  instigation  that  Antoine  shot  at  you 
in  the  forest,  pushed  the  stone  from  the  parapet, 
and  poisoned  the  Apples  of  Love.  You  know,  Raim- 
baut,  how  you  escaped  through  the  interposition  of 
Heaven  and  the  protection  of  Saint  Martin.  When 
you  were  wholly  in  Berguedan's  power  at  the  little 
castle,  he  hesitated  to  kill  you,  but  left  you  to  choose 
between  perpetual  imprisonment  and  the  mercy  of 
the  jagged  rocks. 

"  He  reported  your  death  to  the  Countess  Tyburge, 
and  told  her  that  the  Book  of  Hours  could  not  be  found, 
wishing  still  to  keep  this  clue  for  future  use.  When 
you  appeared  at  Le  Puy,  Tyburge  was  furious! 

436 


AN  OLD  LOVE  STORY 

Berguedan  was  obliged  to  fly  to  Italy  to  escape 
her  vengeance.  He  was  living  in  Rome  when  he  met 
Guilhem,  who  had  come  thither  on  a  pilgrimage, 
and  it  did  not  take  long  for  the  wily  Spaniard  to 
ingratiate  himself  with  the  young  Count.  Through 
all  his  wanderings  Berguedan  carried  the  Book  of 
Hours,  and  from  his  bosom  he  gave  it  me  to-day  as 
he  lay  dying  at  the  cross-roads." 

When  Anselme  finished,  he  handed  the  book  to 
Raimbaut.  The  latter  took  it,  and  still  without  a 
word  climbed  the  stairs  to  his  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE  CALL  OF  THE   CROSS 

THE  shock  of  the  revelation  left  Raimbaut  stunned 
and  purposeless.  For  a  long  time  he  was  unable  to 
adjust  himself  to  the  new  point  of  view  in  which  his 
whole  life  was  placed.  He  had  lavished  upon  Peirol 
all  the  love  possible  for  a  child  to  give  his  father,  and 
he  could  not  transfer  even  the  memory  of  that  affec- 
tion to  the  careless  Count  of  Courthezon.  For  his 
dead  mother,  he  felt  a  great  love  and  a  great  pity. 
She  was  beautiful;  she  was  good;  she  had  suffered 
for  the  sins  of  others.  All  the  chivalry  of  his  heart 
went  out  to  her.  As  a  boy,  he  had  always  felt  the 
lack  of  maternal  sympathy,  and  had  envied  every 
peasant  child  who  rested  on  his  mother's  bosom. 
His  whole  life  had  been  lonely. 

To-night,  though  he  knew  that  he  never  could  feel 
the  touch  of  her  hand  or  the  warmth  of  her  kiss  on  his 
brow,  yet  there  came  to  him  a  happiness  wonderfully 
strange  and  sweet.  He  was  conscious  of  a  spirit  of 
love  in  the  very  air  about  him.  It  was  only  when  he 
realized  that  he  should  never  hear  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  that  a  sense  of  bereavement  seemed  like  to 
break  his  heart.  In  spite  of  his  manhood,  his  experi- 
ence, and  the  fulness  of  his  life,  he  was  again  a  moth- 
erless child.  Why  had  the  joy  of  her  presence  been 
denied  him?  Now  at  last  he  understood  himself:  he 

438 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  CROSS 

understood  his  impressions,  dreams,  and  desires,  as 
never  before.  It  was  not  the  life  of  Peirol,  nor  the 
shallow  soul  of  the  Count  of  Courthezon,  but  his  own 
mother's  spirit  that  had  taken  possession  of  him  and 
had  given  him  his  love  for  the  beautiful,  his  ideal  of 
perfect  womanhood. 

Oh,  if  he  might  tell  her  of  his  adoration  for  Biatritz ! 
She  would  know,  and  could  advise  him  what  to  do. 
The  thought  of  Biatritz  drew  him  at  last  from  his 
memories  of  the  past.  Even  now  Guilhem  was  by 
her  side,  free  to  speak  when  he  would.  Strangely 
enough,  though  his  heart  was  aflame  with  jealousy, 
he  did  not  fear  that  she  would  learn  to  love  Guilhem. 
He  was  too  superficial.  Her  serene  soul  could  never 
be  stirred  by  such  light  words  as  he  might  utter. 
Was  it  possible  to  persuade  Bonifaz  that  Guilhem 
was  an  usurper?  Would  it  be  madness  to  go  boldly 
to  the  Castle  of  the  Vale  and  declare,  — 

"  I  am  no  longer  a  poor  troubadour,  dependent 
upon  the  bounty  of  my  patrons,  I  am  no  longer  heir 
to  the  humble  fief  of  Vacqueiras.  My  rank  is  as 
high  as  your  own.  I  have  your  word,  that,  were  I 
the  Count  of  Courthezon  you  would  gladly  give 
me  your  sister  Biatritz.  I  claim  its  fulfilment,  for  I 
am  the  Count  of  Courthezon!  I  can  prove  my 
title,  and  will  defend  my  rights  with  my  own  good 
sword." 

He  touched  the  secret  spring  in  the  cover  of  the 
Book  of  Hours,  and  the  ivory  placque  lifted.  He 
took  the  bit  of  parchment.  He  unfolded  it  with 

439 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

trembling  fingers.  Penned  by  the  Count's  own  hand, 
it  bore  his  signature  and  seal.  Raimbaut  read  as 
eagerly  as  if  the  script  were  to  settle  his  entrance  into 
Paradise :  — 

"In  the  fear  of  God,  and  by  my  hope  of  Heaven,  I, 
Count  Raimbaut  of  Courthezon,  declare  that  I  was 
wedded  by  the  full  rites  of  the  Church  to  the  Lady 
Philippa,  afterwards  Countess  of  Dia.  She  bore  me 
a  male  child,  at  this  present  time  known  as  Raimbaut 
of  Vacqueiras :  him  I  affirm  to  be  heir  to  my  title  and 
possessions.  I  swear  to  the  truth  of  the  above  by  the 
Holy  Rood,  and  call  upon  Anselme  who  wedded  us, 
and  Peirol,  Lord  of  Vacqueiras,  to  witness  the  truth 
of  my  declaration." 

Jn  one  corner  of  the  document  was  appended  the 
name  of  the  priest  of  Courthezon. 

Here  was  strong  proof,  yet  it  would  be  questioned 
by  Guilhem,  who  would  fight  bitterly  for  the  title. 
It  was  with  a  feeling  of  awe  that  Raimbaut  opened 
the  Book  and  turned  the  leaves  until  he  came  to  the 
miniature  of  Saint  Hope.  He  studied  the  sweet  face 
reverently.  How  proud  he  was  of  the  mother  who 
occupied  a  place  of  honor  such  as  no  woman  in  Pro- 
vence had  ever  attained!  She  had  written  its  most 
beautiful  lyric.  There  was  none  to  compare  with  her 
save  the  Saint  Love  standing  in  the  niche  above  her, 
towards  whom  she  looked.  It  seemed  again  to  Raim- 
baut as  if  it  were  Biatritz  herself  who  stood  before 
him :  not  a  mere  picture,  not  the  likeness  of  one  long 
since  dead ;  but  a  woman  alive,  warm,  fragrant.  At 

440 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  CROSS 

thought  of  her  his  heart  grew  wild  with  longing,  and 
his  soul  was  filled  with  rapture  at  the  hope  that  he 
might  soon  hold  her  in  his  arms. 

For  a  long  time  he  gazed  at  the  miniature  in  his 
hand,  until  he  found  his  thoughts  strangely  wander- 
ing back  to  the  ship  with  the  black  sails,  laden  with 
the  story  of  disaster  to  the  Cross.  Almost  as  if  a 
curtain  had  been  drawn  before  the  picture  of  his  love, 
he  saw  instead  the  fearful  battle  on  the  rocky  desert 
of  Tiberias,  the  triumph  of  the  Turk,  the  dreadful 
death  of  the  soldiers  of  the  Cross.  That  stricken  field 
with  the  faces  of  the  dead,  pale  in  the  moonlight, 
seemed  nearer  than  the  meadows  of  Vacqueiras.  As 
he  looked  there  came  a  cry,  faint  at  first,  but  growing 
louder  and  clearer  until  his  ears  rang  with  the  sound. 
It  was  the  Call  of  the  Cross,  insistent,  unearthly. 
The  summons  was  from  Heaven,  —  to  him  alone. 
He  must  answer  it.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
there  seemed  to  be  a  real  Christ  who  had  suffered  and 
died  for  him.  Then  the  picture  faded.  He  saw 
Biatritz  with  the  love-light  in  her  eyes.  He  heard 
her  voice  so  low  and  tender.  He  felt  her  soft  arms 
round  his  neck.  But  the  "  Call  "  came  again,  urgent, 
clamorous. 

So  through  the  long  hours  of  the  night  he  fought  a 
drawn  battle,  until  at  dawn  there  came  to  his  dull 
ears  the  sound  of  the  bell  in  the  little  church.  He 
descended  the  stairs.  He  entered  and  knelt  among 
the  rough  peasants,  who  looked  up  at  him  wonder- 
ingly.  He  tried  to  pray,  but  could  not. 

441 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

Then  sleepless  nights  followed  days  of  conflict. 
There  came  at  last  a  morning  when  Raimbaut  rose 
from  his  knees  and  went  to  Anselme  in  the  little 
sacristy.  Here  he  found  the  good  priest  standing 
before  the  old  cabinet,  whose  uncouth  carving  even 
Time  could  not  soften. 

"Peace  be  with  you,  my  son,"  said  Anselme. 

'  The  peace  of  God  cannot  rest  on  me,"  replied 
Raimbaut,  "  for  my  soul  is  given  over  to  a  strife 
which  is  not  yet  ended.  There  has  come  to  me  the 
Call  of  the  Cross.  I  cannot  listen  to  it  until  I  have 
won  the  woman  whom  I  love  more  than  all  this 
world  and  all  Heaven  as  well." 

"  If  the  Spirit  of  God  be  struggling  with  you," 
answered  Anselme,  "you  will  find  no  ease  until  you 
yield.  Do  you  remember  what  I  told  you  when  a 
little  lad,  —  a  wise  man  gives  not  his  heart  to  love 
or  war  or  pleasure,  but  seeks  for  peace?  All  through 
the  years  I  have  never  failed  to  pray  for  you.  I  still 
believe  that  God  will  win  His  own." 

To  this  Raimbaut  made  no  reply.  The  first  sun- 
beams of  the  morning  shone  through  the  little  win- 
dow full  upon  his  face,  but  they  brought  no  light  to 
his  dull  eyes  or  his  troubled  brow.  When  he  spoke, 
his  voice  was  very  weary. 

"  Give  me  your  blessing,  for  I  must  say  farewell." 

"  Whither  go  you?  "  inquired  Anselme. 

"  I  shall  ride  to  Count  Raimon,  for  whom  I  have  a 
message.  He  has  always  been  my  friend  and  loves  not 
Guilhem.  I  hope  to  enlist  him  in  my  cause.  I  shall 

442 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  CROSS 

tell  my  tale  to  Bonifaz  and  ask  that  Biatritz  be  given 
to  me,  the  true  Count  of  Courthezon." 

He  knelt  for  Anselme's  benediction. 

"  May  Saint  Martin  guide  you  in  the  right  way! 
May  God  give  you  the  peace  that  passe th  under- 
standing! May  you  find  the  Perfect  Love!  " 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

THE   PERFECT  LOVE 

WHEN  Raimbaut  rode  with  Jacques  out  of  the  dark 
gateway  of  Vacqueiras,  he  was  greeted  by  a  smiling 
day.  Over  the  hills  and  valleys  of  Provence  the  wind 
blew  softly  and  the  sun  shone  like  a  benediction. 
Among  the  olive  groves  and  vineyards  the  peasants 
labored  tranquilly.  There  was  a  glimpse  of  the  gray 
mill ;  over  its  mossy  wheel  the  white  water  was  splash- 
ing. All  around  were  familiar  scenes  and  fields  fra- 
grant with  memories,  yet  they  won  no  single  glance 
from  Raimbaut.  He  looked  neither  to  right  nor  to 
left  as  he  rode  steadily  toward  Avignon. 

Long  before  they  reached  the  city,  they  could  hear 
the  great  bell  of  the  cathedral  tolling  solemnly.  Its 
notes  floated  over  the  bare  meadows,  and  the  air  was 
laden  with  the  burden  of  sorrow.  At  noon  they 
found  the  fields  vacant,  and  the  villages  silent  but 
for  the  clatter  of  their  hoofs  over  the  echoing  pave- 
ments. The  day  was  no  longer  smiling.  Out  of 
the  sea  the  mists  had  risen,  and  a  storm  was  gather- 
ing over  the  sharp  crags  on  the  horizon.  The  sun 
was  hidden  by  drifting  clouds  and  the  wind  moaned 
wearily. 

When  Raimbaut  first  caught  sight  of  Nostre-Dame- 
des-Doms  he  crossed  himself  and  whispered  a  prayer. 
Like  a  strong  man  in  defeat,  the  tall  tower  rose  grim 

444 


THE  PERFECT  LOVE 

and  expressionless  above  the  winding  river.  The 
Crescent  had  triumphed  over  the  Cross.  Jerusalem 
had  fallen,  and  the  horror  of  the  disaster  hung  over 
Avignon  like  a  black  pall. 

Entering  the  wide  gate,  Raimbaut  found  the 
streets  almost  deserted.  Here  and  there  could  be 
seen  the  old  and  infirm,  who  were  unable  to  climb  the 
steep  hill  of  Rocher-des-Doms,  and  the  little  children, 
too  frightened  to  play,  although  they  understood 
not  the  meaning  of  the  calamity  which  had  fallen 
upon  them.  A  Requiem  was  being  celebrated  at  the 
cathedral  for  the  soldiers  of  the  Cross  who  had 
given  up  their  lives  on  the  bleak  plain  of  Tiberias, 
and  up  the  winding  roadway  the  weary  horses 
plodded. 

Dismounting  at  the  portal,  Raimbaut  left  his 
destrier  with  Jacques,  and  entered  the  gloomy  build- 
ing. The  service  was  nearly  over,  the  air  heavy 
with  incense,  and  the  notes  of  the  organ  like  the 
sighs  of  dying  men.  At  Genoa  there  had  been  loud 
lamentations  and  cries  of  surprise  and  dismay. 
Here  the  first  shock  of  consternation  had  given  place 
to  grief  more  intense.  The  floor  was  crowded  with 
kneeling  worshippers,  many  of  whom  had  thrown 
themselves  prone  on  the  cold  stones.  Nearly  all 
were  motionless  and  silent,  though  the  more  excitable 
rocked  to  and  fro.  There  were  some  who  sobbed, 
and  occasionally  a  deep  moan  expressed  the  agony 
of  a  burdened  heart.  Avignon,  like  every  city  in 
Provence,  had  sent  its  companies  of  knights  and  men- 

445 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

at-arms  over  the  blue  water.  Hardly  one  of  the  great 
throng  but  had  lost  some  dear  one,  and  all  were 
filled  with  horror  at  the  triumph  of  the  infidel  and  the 
humiliation  of  the  Cross. 

For  a  moment  Raimbaut  looked  about  him,  but 
saw  nothing  clearly.  Close  by  his  side,  in  the  shadow 
of  a  pillar,  were  a  knight  and  demoiselle.  They 
started  at  his  entrance  and  gazed  at  him  with  wonder. 
He  brushed  against  them,  but  did  not  feel  their  touch. 
He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  bowed  his  head 
as  if  a  great  weight  had  fallen  upon  his  shoulders. 
The  voices  of  the  slain  seemed  to  reproach  him 
and  cry  for  vengeance.  He  had  been  singing  songs 
of  love  while  brave  men  fought  to  the  death  with 
prayers  on  their  parched  lips.  So  overwhelmed  was 
he  that,  when  the  service  ended,  he  still  knelt  in  the 
shadows,  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands.  He  noticed 
not  the  sound  of  shuffling  feet,  nor  the  shock  of  those 
who  stumbled  against  him  as  they  sought  the  door. 
It  was  only  when  there  fell  a  great  silence  that  he 
looked  up  and  saw  a  tall  form  mount  the  pulpit. 

It  was  Benizet.  A  torch  shone  full  into  his  face, 
as  radiant  as  when  he  bore  upon  his  back  the  huge 
stone  for  the  building  of  the  bridge.  He  spoke  as 
simply  to  the  congregation  as  if  they  were  masons 
working  under  him. 

"  Brothers,  listen  to  me!  My  heart,  like  yours,  is 
filled  with  woe  at  the  dire  message  that  has  come  to 
us.  With  you  I  have  prayed  for  the  souls  of  those 
who  gave  their  lives  for  the  cause  of  Christ.  We 

446 


THE  PERFECT  LOVE 

cannot  bring  the  dead  to  life.  We  cannot  forget  our 
sorrow  for  the  loved  ones.  But  to  my  soul  there 
comes  the  question :  How  shall  we  retrieve  the  disaster 
that  has  fallen  upon  us?  Certes,  we  must  win  back 
the  Holy  City!" 

For  a  moment  he  paused,  that  the  words  might 
sink  into  the  hearts  of  his  hearers;  and  then  he 
spoke  with  a  new  note  of  hope  and  courage  in  his  voice. 

"  Even  in  our  dejection  we  must  not  forget  that 
the  cause  of  Our  Lord  Christ  is  never  lost.  The 
infidel  cannot  prevail  over  us.  My  work  in  Avignon 
is  done :  the  great  bridge  spans  the  river  from  shore 
to  shore.  I  now  am  free!  Before  you  all  I  swear 
hereafter  to  devote  myself  to  the  sword.  Who  will 
take  the  Cross  with  me?  " 

There  were  loud  cries.  A  few  earnest  men  came 
forward,  and  a  little  knot  gathered  around  the  pulpit. 
Most  of  them  belonged  to  the  order  of  bridge- 
builders;  a  few  were  men-at-arms,  and  some  were 
poor  peasants. 

At  Raimbaut's  side  was  a  group  of  knights  and 
ladies.  The  gloom  of  their  faces  did  not  lift  at 
Benizet's  exhortation.  One  old  baron  raised  a 
maimed  hand  and  cried  out,  — 

"  I  have  given  two  sons  to  the  cause  of  Christ!  I 
have  lost  one  hand,  the  other  I  will  keep  for  bowl 
and  trencher." 

"  I  would  my  husband  had  never  gone  upon  the 
hopeless  quest!"  exclaimed  a  tall  young  chatelaine, 
whose  face  was  wet  with  tears. 

447 


THE  SEVERED   MANTLE 

"Alas!"  declared  a  pretty  demoiselle,  "my 
brother  is  dead,  and  his  body  lies  unburied,  food  for 
the  ravens.  But  thank  God,  you,  Aimar,  still  live! 
I  swear  you  shall  not  leave  my  side!  " 

As  she  spoke  she  caught  her  lover's  arm  and,  cling- 
ing to  him,  looked  up  with  a  glance  full  of  fear  and 
entreaty. 

The  calamity  was  so  fresh,  so  bewildering,  that  the 
appeal  fell  upon  deaf  ears.  Benizet  spoke  a  few 
words  of  encouragement  to  the  men  who  had  gathered 
about  him,  and  there  was  a  smile  of  confidence  on 
his  stern  lips  as  he  said,  — 

"  Here  is  a  little  company  of  men-at-arms,  masons 
skilful  with  the  trowel,  who  can  quickly  learn  to  wield 
a  sword,  peasants  whose  muscles  have  been  hardened 
by  labor;  yet  I  see  no  one  to  lead  them;  for  I  also 
must  acquire  the  art  of  war.  Is  there  no  knight  who 
will  answer  the  Call  of  the  Cross?  Is  there  no 
troubadour  who  will  inspire  our  hearts  with  song? 
It  is  but  for  a  year  and  a  day  that  I  ask  you  to  pledge 
yourselves.  How  small  a  share  is  that  of  the  long 
life  that  God  has  measured  out  to  us!  " 

Again  Benizet  waited,  but  there  was  no  response 
to  his  entreaty.  None  came  forward;  instead,  the 
crowd  began  to  move  slowly  toward  the  door.  As 
Raimbaut  watched  the  drifting  of  the  sullen  tide,  his 
soul  was  filled  with  a  great  enthusiasm,  a  boundless 
pity.  In  this  wise  was  Christ  deserted  after  Geth- 
semane,  when  "  they  all  forsook  him  and  fled." 
Raimbaut  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  Rood.  The  white 

448 


THE  PERFECT  LOVE 

lips  appealed  to  him  irresistibly.  All  that  was  gen- 
erous in  his  spirit  cried  out  in  loyalty.  To  his  ears 
there  came  a  sound  like  the  rush  of  many  waters. 
He  felt  a  hot  wind  on  his  brow.  It  throbbed  and 
pulsed  like  the  beating  of  a  great  heart.  Biatritz  no 
longer  held  him  back  with  clinging  fingers;  her  white 
hand  pointed  to  the  Cross.  Only  the  purity  of  her 
passion  had  made  real  his  love  of  Christ.  Only  by 
sacrifice  could  his  soul  be  fitted  to  mate  with  one  so 
full  of  spiritual  beauty.  Only  by  renunciation  could 
he  reach  Heaven.  He  must  risk  present  joy  for  the 
glory  of  God. 

"  Biatritz,  my  Biatritz,"  he  whispered,  "  I  leave 
you  as  Galahad  left  the  fair  Blanchefleur,  with  the 
bride-roses  in  her  lap.  I  kiss  you  farewell,  remem- 
bering the  fragrance  of  your  lips.  I  give  my  fealty 
to  Heaven,  praying  that  earthly  love,  made  pure  by 
sacrifice,  may  not  be  denied  me." 

Though  he  breathed  the  words,  the  demoiselle, 
who  knelt  by  his  side,  heard  him.  She  was  about 
to  speak,  but  the  knight  restrained  her  with  an  out- 
stretched hand. 

Benizet's  faith  had  been  tested  to  the  utmost. 
Every  moment  seemed  more  hopeless,  when  he  heard 
a  voice  like  the  call  of  an  archangel.  The  throng 
halted,  spellbound.  It  was  the  Crusader's  battle-cry 
which  had  risen  from  many  a  stricken  field :  — 

"God  wills  it!     God  wills  it!  " 

Following  the  words  came  Raimbaut.  He  pushed 
his  way  through  the  crowd  to  the  foot  of  the  pulpit. 

449 


THE   SEVERED  MANTLE 

His  face  was  transfigured  by  an  ecstasy  of  divine  love. 
He  raised  his  sword  above  his  head,  hilt  uppermost, 
and  cried,  — 

"  Here  is  a  poor  knight  and  a  halting  singer,  who 
takes  the  Cross  for  the  glory  of  his  Lord  Christ  and 
for  the  honor  of  his  lady!  " 

A  great  hush  had  fallen  on  the  multitude,  so  that 
the  clear  voice  was  audible  in  the  far  corners  of  the 
cathedral.  For  a  moment  only  Raimbaut  paused. 

"  I  fear  not  to  go  alone,  yet  I  would  have  at  my 
elbow  a  company  of  the  good  men  of  Provence :  men 
with  swords  in  their  hands,  songs  on  their  lips,  and 
fair  ladies  praying  for  their  victory  and  safe  return. 
Remember,  we  are  following  the  Lord  Christ  who  suf- 
fered on  the  Cross  for  our  sins!  " 

At  this  the  multitude  surged  to  and  fro.  Benizet 
exclaimed,  — 

"  God  be  praised!  Here  is  the  comrade  for  whom 
I  have  prayed  these  many  years !  Here  is  a  man  both 
knight  and  troubadour!  Who  will  follow  Raimbaut 
of  the  Severed  Mantle?  " 

Yet  even  now  the  barons  held  back.  The  old 
knight  again  raised  his  maimed  arm  and  said,  — 

"  When  God  helps  not  His  own,  His  people  will 
not  fight  for  Him!" 

A  mocking  gallant  shouted, — 

"  Come,  Messire  Raimbaut,  you  have  a  lute  in 
your  left  hand!  We  would  rather  hear  you  sing  than 
preach  to  us!  " 

There  were  conflicting  cries.  The  crowd  tossed 
450 


THE   CALL  OF  THE   CROSS 


THE  PERFECT  LOVE 

like  a  sea  troubled  by  divergent  tides.     Raimbaut 
dropped  his  sword,  lifted  his  lute  and  sang,  - 

"The  God  of  Heaven  and  earth,  of  sea  and  air, 
Maker  of  wind  and  rain,  of  heat  and  cold, 
Bids  all  who  love  Him  their  broad  sails  unfold, 
And  He  will  lead  them  whither  once  did  fare 
The  Magi  Kings.     The  Turks,  by  Satan  guided, 
Have  seized  Jerusalem,  and  He  who  o'er 
The  city  wept,  her  crimes  bewailing  sore, 
Now  looks  to  us,  with  eager  swords  provided, 
To  fight  for  Him  whom  impious  tongues  blaspheme; 
Each  slave  of  sin  his  lost  soul  may  redeem 
When  o'er  his  feet  the  Jordan  wave  has  glided." 

First  one  and  then  another  began  to  thread  his 
way  forward.  Here  and  there  were  heard  voices  in 
remonstrance,  or  in  argument,  as  some  enthusiast 
was  restrained  by  those  about  him.  Wives  clung  to 
their  husbands  and  ladies  to  their  lovers.  In  the 
shadow  of  the  pillar  the  demoiselle  lifted  a  face  full 
of  entreaty,  but  the  knight  sadly  shook  his  head. 
Again  Raimbaut  sang,  - 

"For  us  Christ  suffered,  deigned  for  us  to  bear 
The  load  of  woe  by  no  fond  heart  consoled; 
Endured  the  taunt  of  Jews  with  hate  made  bold; 
Was  pointed  at  that  scornful  eyes  might  stare; 
With  cords  was  scourged,  by  mocking  words  derided; 
Was  raised  on  miry  timbers,  where  He  wore 
A  crown  of  thorns  which  His  white  forehead  tore. 
Whose  is  the  heart  for  hardness  would  be  chided! 
War  for  the  Cross  great  honor  I  esteem: 
Death  is  all-glorious,  might  it  but  redeem 
The  land  where  He  in  life  and  death  abided." 

451 


THE   SEVERED   MANTLE 

The  story  of  the  Sacred  Passion  had  ever  a  strong 
appeal.  But,  told  in  song,  it  kindled  a  flame  in 
every  heart,  for  music  was  the  soul-language  of 
Provence.  By  twos  and  threes,  barons  and  men-at- 
arms  pushed  forward.  Again  the  demoiselle  turned 
to  the  knight  in  silent  supplication,  and  at  last  he 
nodded  his  consent.  Yet  they  listened  breathlessly 
as  Raimbaut  finished  with  a  voice  full  of  tender 
cadence,  — 

"Lord  Christ!     I  pray  I  may  not  evermore 
Mourn  my  lost  love,  because  Thy  Cross  I  bore! 
'Twixt  Thee  and  love  I  wavered  undecided; 
Rose  of  the  world  is  she  of  whom  I  dream, 
Yet  in  my  soul  Thou  reignest  now  supreme; 
Valor  and  joy  to  Thee  I  have  confided." 

At  this  refrain  even  the  most  obdurate  yielded. 
The  vast  multitude  suddenly  surged  forward,  clamor- 
ing to  join  the  Crusade.  There  was  a  forest  of 
blades  lifted  heavenward.  Few  held  back  who  were 
able  to  wield  a  sword  or  level  a  lance. 

Benizet's  face  was  wet  with  tears.  He  descended 
from  the  pulpit.  With  trembling  fingers  he  fastened 
the  sacred  emblem.  Then  a  mighty  cry  echoed 
through  the  cathedral  arches,  as  Raimbaut  stood 
before  them,  the  red  Cross  on  his  breast. 

At  this  moment  of  triumph,  out  of  the  gloom  came 
Biatritz.  She  had  cast  aside  her  mantle,  and  was 
clad  in  a  white  robe.  So  like  a  saint  was  she  that 
the  crowd,  filled  with  wonder,  made  way  for  her. 
Down  the  narrow  lane  between  the  awestruck  wor- 

452 


THE  PERFECT  LOVE 

shippers  she  walked  like  one  in  a  dream.  Her  lovely 
lashes  rested  on  her  cheek,  and  not  until  she  reached 
the  pulpit  steps  did  she  reveal  the  glory  of  her  eyes. 
So  radiant  were  they  that  Raimbaut  could  not  read 
their  message  until  she  drew  his  face  to  hers  and 
kissed  him  on  the  lips.  Scarce  able  to  believe  his 
senses,  Raimbaut  turned  to  Bonifaz,  who  grasped  his 
hand  and  said,  — 

"Truly  it  is  the  pledge  of  your  betrothal." 
Then  Raimbaut  understood.     He  looked  out  over 
a  sea  of  smiling  countenances,  and  his  voice  was 
vibrant  with  the  rapture  that  filled  his  soul,  - 

"Listen!  all  you  of  Provence  who  live  for  love 
and  song.  To-day  I  know  that  he  who  worships 
Christ  alone  must  miss  the  joy  of  life.  He  who 
adores  his  lady  only  must  lose  the  bliss  of  Heaven. 
With  the  cross  on  my  breast  and  the  kiss  upon  my 
lips  I  have  learned  at  last  the  lesson  of  the  severed 
mantle.  I  have  found  the  Perfect  Love." 


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SOME  PAGES  FROM  THE 
LIFE  OF  TURKISH  WOMEN 


By  DEMETRA   VAKA 


"  A  remarkable  description  of  the  life  and  manner 
of  thinking  of  Turkish  women.  The  author  offers 
wholly  new  pictures  of  Turkish  home  life,  and  presents 
fairly  the  Turkish  woman's  views  of  polygamy,  of 
subjection  to  man,  and  of  religious  duty." 

New  York  Sun. 

"A  striking  story.  .  .  .  Presents  an  illuminating 
picture  of  harem  life.  .  .  .  Decidedly  a  book  that  is 
worth  reading."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  Every  chapter  is  a  revelation  to  the  American 
reader.  The  refreshing  stimulus  of  conditions  alto- 
gether new  permeates  the  book,  and  the  variety  of 
experience  and  of  personalities,  the  delights  and  the 
discomforts,  the  romance  and  the  tedium,  the  happi- 
ness and  the  griefs,  combine  to  make  a  narrative 
diverting  and  illuminating."  —  Kansas  City  Star. 

1 2  mo,  $1.25  net.    Postpaid  $1.37 


HOUGHTON  /T^GL  BOSTON 

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MIFFLIN  >^W  AND 

COMPANY  ralQ  NEW  YORK 


DRAGON'S  BLOOD 

By  HENRY  MILNER  RIDEOUT 


"  A  realistic  and  dramatic  novel  of  the  East,  written 
with  strength  and  great  knowledge  of  native  scenes 
and  conditions.  .  .  .  The  story  is  illumining  in  many 
ways."  —  Baltimore  Sun. 

"'Dragon's  Blood'  is  the  most  powerful,  dramatic 
and  tense  story  of  its  kind  of  which  we  have  any  re- 
collection. It  will  not  be  forgotten  by  those  who 
read  it.  To  find  a  suitable  comparison,  we  can  hardly 
stop  short  of  Kipling."  —  San  Francisco  Argonaut. 

"  A  story  full  of  excitement,  one  of  the  kind  that 
Frank  Norris  liked  to  tell,  and  it  is  told  in  a  way  of 
which  he  who  was  master  of  his  craft  would  not  have 
been  ashamed.  .  .  .  The  book  is  one  that  will  not 
fail  for  readers  and  will  assuredly  deserve  all  it  finds." 

Chicago  Evening  Post. 


Illustrated  in  color  by  Harold  M.  Brett 
lamo,  $1.20  net.   Postpaid  $1.35 


HOUGHTON  /&»  BOSTON 

MIFFLJN  /-^Ip^  AND 

COMPANY  rafc)  NEW  YORK 


THE  BREAKING  IN  OF  A 
YACHTSMAN'S  WIFE 

By  MARY  HEATON  VORSE 

"  Clever  !  Sparkling !  Full  of  quaint  humor  and  crisp 
description  !  Altogether  a  book  which  will  not  disap- 
point the  reader.  It  is  'different,'  and  that  is  one  great 
merit  in  a  book."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"It  will  puzzle  holiday  makers  to  find  a  better  vacation 
book  than  this.  Those  who  go  up  and  down  the  Sound 
in  yachts  will  find  it  especially  pleasing ;  it  will  appeal 
to  those  who  are  fond  of  human  nature  studies ;  may 
be  recommended  even  more  decidedly  to  the  serious 
than  to  the  young  and  frivolous  ;  a  tonic  to  depression 
and  an  antidote  to  gloom."  —  N.  Y.  Times. 

"  Charming,  with  its  salt,  sea-slangy  flavor,  its  double 
love  thread,  and  its  pleasant  chapters  dealing  with 
Long  Island  Sound,  the  Mediterranean,  Massachusetts 
Bay  and  Venetian  lagoons. ' '  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

Illustrated  by  Reginald  Birch.   I2mo,  $1.50 


HOUGHTON  /\53gL  BOSTON 

MIFFLJN  /?\S  AND 

COMPANY  ralE?)  NEW  YORK 


A     000055511     o 


